The Kids Aren't Alright
by lobsterMatriarch
Summary: It's hard to know what to do when bad things happen, and bad things happen a lot. You just do the best you can and hope it's enough. Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes things just suck in a way we can't handle. We can't be awesome all the time. (Post-Sburb. Dave trying to get himself together)
1. Prelude

Notes from Mama Lobster: Welcome to The Kids Aren't Alright, a 38 chapter experiment in sadstuck. There will be drama. Please give it a shot, and I hope you enjoy.

Here is the very beginning, the most basic setup of setups.

* * *

Prelude

Paradox space is a complicated and mysterious thing, one that Dave Strider will never understand. Maybe that's why they called it a fucking paradox.

First there was a game, except it wasn't. He and his friends won, except they didn't. Their universe returned to them, but it was never quite the same as before.

The trolls came first, each unique and alien and somehow a better set of companions to him than most of the people he knew from before. They were strange, but no stranger than he himself, the child born of paradox time with the ability to see everything go wrong and somehow continue living. Most of the trolls died, but the rest continued to their new universe hand in hand with the humans.

After the trolls came family, sort of. They were just like the kids, and just like their parents and siblings too. Soon they would be friends, in a strained, separate sort of way. They had their own story to worry about, their own Dave Strider to miss and fear for, just as he missed his Bro. Most of them parted ways after the game ended, considering life too strange when faced with the resurrection of the guardians. Dave remembered looking into his own eyes, except years older and not really his at all.

Fist bump. Shake it off. See you around, but probably not.

There had been losses and heartbreaks, permanent ones. John had lost Vriska, and had not even had time or knowledge to grieve for her death. Jane was not good at hiding her sorrow, and she watches now as Dirk and Jake embrace. They bite into each other's lips with the joy of being alive and free, and somehow she can only look somber. Through all of her celebrations, Jade's sadness bleeds through from time to time. Davesprite should have been there to celebrate with them, and his loss still ran cold and bitter through her blood.

Even so, somehow the four of them lived. They survived together and will be able to join with their new universe. Dave knew exactly how many times this would not have been the case. He had seen every single one firsthand.

John and Rose waste no time celebrating, with John spinning her around in glee. Her arms twine around his neck, and as she collapses into his shoulders with laughter. For once she looks really, truly relieved.

And then there is him. Bro on one side, Jade on the other, surrounded by love and happiness and all that other sappy nonsense he never really believed in. It's time for him to celebrate, too.

The rest of the kids lived in the game for over four years. He had been there for close to seven. It isn't going to be easy for him to drop everything and turn into Mary-fucking-sunshine. But now, he thinks, in this moment with Jade's smile and their whole lives ahead of them… now it might be possible.

* * *

In the coming years, normalcy returns to most. Lack of practice can erode superhuman powers fairly quickly, not that any of them were very keen to use them any longer. Jade forfeited her side of Bec to a dream bubble, allowing him to rest in peace, and the night Dave burned the timetables still holds vividly in his mind. His catharsis in that moment was soiled only by the buzz of one too many beers.

John finds his life in the piano and in his daughter's first breath. Casey Egbert was certainly never the plan, but if there was ever a happier accident, Dave couldn't think of one. It's amazing to watch John transition so quickly and seamlessly from hero to guardian.

Karkat and Terezi, against all odds, find themselves together once more. They are forever slightly short of happy with each other, and yet somehow they work well that way. In a moment of inebriated weakness, Terezi refers to him as "the digestive parasitic grub that you somehow grow to pity." Karkat's protests are pretty half-assed.

Gamzee made his way through the seedier side of life. There was no place for him in the society their universe has raised, and so he found himself once again in the underbelly. He would not have it any other way.

Kanaya has grown more beautiful and more elegant than ever, taking the fashion world by storm with her exotic creations. She finds her true happiness in a terrible secret.

Jane learns quickly to find her own way in the world; independent of the friends she once loved. She struggles, and yet she perseveres. Steady work comes with diligent searching, and soon she finds herself happy in her own three-and-a-half star kitchen.

Roxy is quick to adapt, throwing herself into the thick of the party-girl lifestyle. She forces her way into the life of social climbers and debutantes, soon becoming recognizable in the worlds of entertainment, fashion and social activism. She is brilliant at playing a crowd, and far too charming to not be loved.

Dirk and Jake make their way away from the gang, looking for a chance to take on the new world. Dave hears the name "Strider" echo from the evening news and political talk shows sometimes, often followed by terms like "reckless bravado" and "game changer."

Bro Strider, the only Dirk that Dave has ever known, seems to be more bizarrely outlandish than ever lazing about in an apartment above his own. Well, lazing is harsh. Dirk earns his keep through irony and shenanigans.

Jade is Jade.

Good girlfriend, best wife.

She is… he doesn't really know how to say what she is. She is something way the fuck out of his world, and that's all he really needs to know.

And then there is Rose.


	2. Beginning

Beginning

(written by BrookeStardust)

== Be Rose.

Your name is Rose Egbert and you are currently trying to get the ballpoint pen in your hand to work so you can finish signing your name on a sheet of paper. You had a rhythm going, losing yourself in a trance of initials and dotted lines, and this interruption is most unwelcome.

You shake the pen slightly and the ink resumes flowing. You finish your name with a flourish and hand it over to the man sitting opposite you.

== Be John

Your name is John Egbert and you are strangely at peace with this whole ordeal. You sign your name as well, and something inside of you that felt a bit askew settles back into place. You look up at Rose and smile.

== Be Rose

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you have just finished finalizing your divorce from your oldest and closest friend. You lean over the table and wrap your arms around him before turning to your daughter. She's not old enough to know what's going on, but perhaps in time she will.

You were never meant to be a mother. Not that you don't love Casey, you do dearly, you just were not made for parenting. You knew John would be more than enough of a guardian to make up for your absence, and you would do your very best to be a strong, stable presence in your daughter's life.

You turn to your girlfriend, sitting to your right and, for the first time since the ending of this awful game, you feel completely at peace.

The lawyers are shaking hands with each other, and packing their briefcases. You watch as John picks up your sleeping daughter and carries her out to the lobby of the courthouse where her aunt and uncle are waiting.

You briefly entertain the thought of joining them all for lunch, but you have a flight to catch soon. You head to the main staircase where the taxi is waiting to take you away.

== Rose: Detatch

Okay, you can do that. You've slowly been doing that for months now. Despite how much your friends' psyches intrigue you, it is a bit hard to justify studying them when you have several hundred patients all in need of your psychiatric assistance.

Kanaya sometimes suggests that it might do you well to pry into their lives a bit more. She's always trying to meddle, you think. Meddle and fuss, and in the end you just ignore it and carry on as you have been.

They're doing fine, you tell yourself. The fucking joke of a game is over and everything has finally, _finally,_ settled down. You can't even remember the last time John dreamed of finding his slain father, or when you last felt the looming threat of going grimdark within you.

Your most recent conversation with Dave was filled with awkwardly erotic metaphors and Jade laughed like she did when she was twelve. You of all people know that recovery from traumatic events takes time, but it's been years now. Of course you're all going to be alright, you're nothing if not resilient and determined bastards.

== Dave: be alright

Yeah, you guess you can do that. You might not be great, but alright you can do. Things could be way worse, right? You could be sitting on the street on Christmas in a shitty elf costume selling your body for a line or something.

Ho ho ho mother fuckers.

You finish untangling the string of lights you were handed and start placing them around your small cactus. You flat out refuse to have a big evergreen tree in your apartment, holiday tradition or not.

You can't risk something that large falling down if you happen to freak out around it. You tell Jade it's because the cactus is ironic. You know she doesn't believe you when you say it, but she accepts this quirk like all the others.

You still end up knocking the cactus down, shattering the baubles and tinsel across the floor.

Maybe you guessed wrong.

== Jade: be alright.

It is a little hard to be alright at the moment, but that's okay. You know that things will get better soon; you just hit a rough patch. He's never had problems with holidays before, but you know that a lot of people have more severe symptoms during this time of year, so you're not too worried.

You do, however, make a mental note to not buy ceramic plant pots anymore. They are a right pain to clean up after getting kicked and stomped on.

== John: be alright.

No worries there, you've got this whole thing covered. What kind of friendleader would you be if you could handle the heat of the battle but not the aftermath? A terrible one, clearly. And that is not something you can be. Especially now that you have a kid to look after! You have to not only be an awesome palhoncho, but you need to be an even more awesome guardian.

You're doing this. You're making this happen.

Her mom might not be around much, but Casey's growing up to be a strong and intelligent young girl anyway. Not that you're biased or anything. And you are finding that you really enjoy being a dad. The whole single parent title feels a bit strange to you though. You still have Dave and Jade and Dirk and Jane and Rose and Kanaya to help you out if things ever get difficult.

That 'it takes a village to raise a child' thing is serious business!

== Casey: be alright

Of course you're alright, you can count now! And counting is the absolute coolest thing that you could ever learn to do. Your daddy is so proud of you and you show it off every chance you get. You call up Mommy and Kana-Mommy and get all the way up to _thirty_. Mommy is so excited she has you do it two more times before she lets you go.

Auntie Jade is really proud too, but you get the feeling Uncle Dave isn't. He says he is, but he never actually listens to you do it. What if you were lying? He would never know! You want to prove your new ability so he'll be properly proud of you.

You tell this to your daddy, and he suggests showing Uncle Dave that you know your colours instead. You try this out and are downright giddy when he actually seems to care instead of just pretending. He asks you the colour of _everything _and you are so into it that you completely forget about wanting to show him how awesome numbers are.

== Dave: be very much not alright with counting

Right. About that. You're flat out not a fan of counting. Counting reminds you of clocks a little too fucking much, and clocks are sure to ruin your whole damn day. It's a good thing kids are easy to distract. You can listen to rambling about colour names all fucking day and not have an issue.

There are just some things you have to avoid. That's all. No need to make it federal fucking issue.

The counting keeps going on in your mind though. That's fine. Whatever. You'll just have a drink before bed and it'll go away. You've done this before when things started getting a little too real for you again. No big. You've got this covered.

This is not a problem in the slightest.

== Rose: start noticing things

You call your brother at least once a week to check in with how he's doing and how his latest projects are coming together. He keeps up the ironic monotone throughout every single conversation, but you think you can sense his stress level is growing. His rambling is more incoherent than ever and you can't really recall when he last made a proper Strider-esque metaphor.

You let him know that you want to meet up with him the next time you are in town. He says this is fine and offers to smoke a bowl with you. The two of you haven't done that together since you were teenagers, but you agree anyway.

You make plans to visit within the next month. John promises to set up the spare guest room for you and Kanaya so that you don't need to bother with rent a hotel.

== Be Jade

The apartment has the slight odour of burnt weed and stale beer, but things could definitely be worse! And they have been worse, so this is nothing at all to worry about. It's summer, people are bound to want to relax during summer, right?

Even if it is summer, Dave isn't getting out of cleaning up this mess though. He apologizes over and over as you both pick up the glass shards of the ashtray and you just laugh.

You know that these things happen sometimes. And, as long as he's there to help you clean up everything then you don't mind. No one was hurt and you can always buy a new ashtray.

He kisses you and you feel like things are getting better already.


	3. Don't Panic

Notes from Mama Lobster: now we can get to the present time, and move through it almost normally.

* * *

Don't Panic

== Dave: say goodbye

Honestly, narrator, there's no need to be so dramatic about these things; she's going be back tonight. Jade's leaving to go plant a tree or smoke pot or whatever it is she does at that nursery. It's always changing, and she tries to explain, but you lost track when she started talking about the unique biological differences between perennial and annual hibiscus.

Of course, she's so damn excited about the whole thing that you keep listening anyway. Look at the way she claps her hands together, goddamn. Shit's fucking adorable.

You have to be on your way, too, and she adjusts your tie before kissing your cheek and grabbing her lunch.

You can't help but smile, even though your tie is completely off-center now.

== Dave: work

Well, that's sort of a joke these days. Being genetically identical to the world's highest-grossing director of the moment has its perks. Mostly that you can trade a metric fuckton of stupid scripts with your elder clone and make a hell of a lot of money for pretty much nothing. It's glamorous as shit and netted you a pretty sweet apartment in the outskirts of the city.

Of course you still have to pretend to work occasionally, and this just happens to be one of those crappy days. God damn do you not care about creative meetings or executive bullshit. You love the product placement campaigns, though. Every stupid logo infiltrating your terrible movies just adds to the sense of pop culture horror. It's magnificent.

Today's just another casting meeting, and you have no idea why you have to be involved, but all the suits seem to look at you expectantly as you walk into the room.

"Mr. Strider, thank you for coming in today. We were hoping you might have some input for the casting director to consider."

They start spouting off names of famous people you don't care about, and you tell them every single one sounds like a fucking fabulous idea. It's more fun that way, watching them slowly squirm as you give them absolutely nothing to work with. Are you being serious or sarcastic? They'll never know. You'd think these assholes would learn that if the elder, more important Dave Strider wasn't going to be of any use to them that the younger one sure as fuck wasn't going to cooperate either.

They give up eventually, and you're free to go. Good. You have time to pick up dinner for Jade on the way back.

"Mr. Strider?" Well, shit. "Mr. Strider, I just had one more matter I wanted to discuss with you. Privately."

You follow the faceless suit out of the conference room and into his shitty office. Well, not shitty. It's huge and expensive looking with a spectacular view of the city, but in the end it's still a glorified cubicle. You hate these things.

"Mr. Strider, we were wondering if you might be willing to meet up with another director. We have another project that we think you would be the perfect writer for."

Fuck. Another mis-matchmaking attempt from useless producers who have no idea what they're talking about. But of course, if you make money and he makes money, who cares about your vision?

"It's right up your alley, trust me, it's just a spin off of your work on Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff."

Ok, maybe you're listening. This could be just the shitty, useless distraction you need to kill all that free time you have.

"We wanted to look a little more into the chess sequence, where Sweet Bro decided to break the rules and take matters into our own hands. It's time to try a unique perspective. We were hoping you would follow the story of the Knight."

Oh come on, this giant... he just had to go there. Didn't anyone ever tell this douche about trigger warnings?

He's still talking, you know, but you're not hearing anything the asshole says. Between the sinking feeling in your gut, the ringing in your ears, the explosions firing behind you, there's a hell of a lot going on to drown out out the suit's useless speech. Knight. Shit, what the fuck kind of asshole starts bringing that up in a meeting? What kind of asshole gets set off by something as stupid as a fictional chess match, anyway? You have to wipe your palms for a minute, keep breathing. Keep cool. You hope your shades are covering the hate in your eyes.

"…so we're sure you're the right person for the job, and we really hope you'll consider it."

You nod and excuse yourself far more politely than you would have liked to. Whatever. You need to be gone. He's chasing you down, trying to give you a business card, but really, fuck that guy.

The bathroom counter feels nice against your sweaty hands. Fucking cold as ice, like you should be when dealing with a bunch of cheap-suited pawns like these guys.

_Pawns._

You fumble with the plastic bag in your pocket; goddamn your hands are shaking. It's fine, though. You just need a hit to get you home. One line, not a problem. You can go straight back to the apartment after and just collapse and ride the high. You'll be sober even before Jade gets home and still have time to make dinner.

It's not a problem, you think as you inhale sharply. The cloud overwhelms your mind.

== Jade: work

You do, and hard! And for the most part you really enjoy it. No, you don't need the money, but you get lots of free plants to study and you can play in the dirt as much as you like. You were never very good at working with people anyway, and plant biology is so much easier to understand. Except for your friends, most of the people you've met have found you a little strange.

It's hot today, though, and you're not getting as much done as you wanted to. This new troll flora isn't something you're familiar with, and getting familiar with the proper planting techniques has been bothering you. Maybe you're just distracted by the thought of Dave in his suit this morning. He doesn't dress up so often anymore, but when he does…

Your coworkers are looking at you again. You were probably giggling too loudly, which is something you've found most people don't like. Oh well, it's close to break time anyway, and the honeysuckle smell so sweet that it's making you hungry.

== Jade: call John

It's what you always do on your lunch break. Sure, you could sit with your coworkers and make some awkward small talk, but it never really struck you as much fun. Mostly they ask you about your husband's work, and you don't really enjoy feeling like celebrity arm candy.

Of course, today is the day of Casey's spelling bee. She's so proud of all the new words she's learned. Honestly, your niece is sharp as a bayonet and you couldn't be prouder. Actually, according to John you could be. He sounds like he's about to explode on the other end; you can barely hear him past the static rustle. That girl is going to get so spoiled.

Casey placed 3rd. Smart, smart girl! John invites you and Dave over for a celebratory dinner, and you tell him you'll ask Dave about it. Dave can be a little worn out after meetings, and today hasn't exactly been easy on you either. Learning a whole new genus of plants is exhausting enough without having to worry about your coworkers pestering you about movie releases and whether or not you've met so-and-so. The whole nightmare resurgence thing is just icing on the cake.

You still have nightmares, sure you do. You remember exactly what it felt like to get blown away in an explosion and taste blood in your mouth. It's terrifying, but you deal. You just play bass or study the new class of hybrid trees that can only grow under Alternian moonlight, and then you can forget. If it gets really bad you can take some of the meds Rose gave you.

Dave, though… he doesn't deal so well, especially not in the past few months. John was so busy with Casey and Rose was far away with Kanaya, and it's just you and Dave together against the storm. You like it that way, usually; Dave is the best teammate you could ask for. He was just going through some trouble and it could get a little lonely scraping by on your own.

But it's ok. You can just play bass and study, because things will get better! You've always been able to push on this far, and being lonely is still a lot better than being in danger all the time. You really can't let it overwhelm you if you want to help Dave pull out of this.

== Everyone: go home

And they do. Dave gets home first and collapses on the couch, checking a text message from Gamzee. Creepy clown wants to meet up tonight, as if Dave would ever let that happen. He's got plenty of coke left in his coat pocket, and it's almost dinnertime anyway.

Shit. Dinner. That was his job. Jade's been working her ass off all day while he harasses grunt workers and has a duel with the trees outside the building. He's pretty sure his fists lost that one, but damn, it felt fucking amazing.

Dinner, first, then he can clean up the bloody mess. Lo mein for him and moo shi for her, and a giant order of fried rice in case Dirk decides to grace them with his presence. It's settled, and ready to be delivered in 30 minutes. He really wishes they could leave out the timeline, he thinks about it enough as it is, but more than anything he needs to get the splinters out of his hands before Jade gets home.

He fails, of course. She's at the door before he even manages to get the first one out.

"Dave?"

He runs to cover his hands, but of course she finds him first. Even now she sometimes seems to just _know_ where people are.

He looks sick, she thinks, what with his eyes bloodshot and his bruised and bloody knuckles. Her heart sinks a little as she takes his hands gingerly. She doesn't ask too many questions, and he loves her for it. Her cleaning of his hands is so quick, so practiced, it's almost alarming. She's an expert at treating wounds.

"Damn, Strider-Harley, you should have been a doctor or something. Save the world all over again."

She laughs, but her eyes don't quite match her smile. "I think I've had enough blood and guts for a while, and that's just from you."

Guilt. If he didn't suck so goddamn much she wouldn't have had to deal with any blood in the game. If he didn't keep sucking she wouldn't have to worry about it now.

There's an itch in the back of his mind. He wants the high again, but shakes it off. Once is more than enough for today, and she would never forgive him for using while she's around. She hates that stuff.

She's looking his hand over, all hard calluses and busted knuckles, but large and capable nonetheless. She only wishes he could see them the way she does. He's off in his nightmares again where she can never reach him.

Maybe tonight's a good night to jam. Her bass needs tuning anyway.

By the time the bandage enclosure is set the blood has spotted through it. He flexes his fingers to test the strength, and she seems satisfied. "There. All taken care of. Now don't mess them up, I'll be pretty pissed if I have to reset these tomorrow."

She smiled brightly and moves to leave, but he catches her arm and plants a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand.

"Thanks."

She giggles to herself again. The bass still seems like a good option, but maybe tonight he can join her.


	4. Blinding

Notes from Mama Lobster: addictions abound, children! Named for "Blinding" by Florence + the Machine.

* * *

Blinding

== Jade: feel everything

His fingers are hurried as they trace her skin, pushing her neck to one side so he can examine her shoulder. She has to hold her mass of hair up and away; if he can't see her, it makes him nervous.

The ritual started years ago, when Dave first started showing symptoms. He would worry until she got home, staring emptily into the walls, greeting her with bleary eyes and clammy hands. Sometimes he'd be high, sometimes he wouldn't. No matter what, he desperately needed to see her. She'd take his hands and run them over her body, trying to prove that she was intact, that her blood was within her skin and her bones were set. Dave would only exhale once he was satisfied that she was uninjured, and bend down to kiss her neck.

It's different now, she thinks. It's desperate. Once upon a time it was daring, almost sexy for her to stand bare in front of him and let him search her body. It was a game. Yes, it calmed his nerves, but mostly it was a time for them to play and bond and remember how far they've come in the years since the creation of the universe.

She winces as he flexes her wrist just a little too roughly. No, Dave, it's not broken. Let it go.

This definitely isn't fun or flirty. He's genuinely concerned that she's hurt. In this moment, years after the danger has passed, he really, truly believes that they could die at any time.

That thought traps her breath in her lungs.

== Dave: feel nothing

Her spine seems to be in working order, which is amazing considering it was out of her body only a moment ago in Lohac. He tries so hard to ignore her screaming in his head, the ringing of his ears as the explosion rattled him down to his bones.

The feel of Jade's unbroken skin is helping. She is slight, but strong like fire and anything but fragile. More than anything she is whole.

Literally.

He kind of wants to laugh at that, but he knows how manic that would sound right now. Manic is pretty fucking lame, and he's been lame enough already. Be cool, Strider.

Her arms are ok. Hips are ok. Knees bending fine, probably better than his do at this point.

Wait.

_Wait._

**_What the ever-loving fuck is that?_**

== Dave: calm down

Fuck off.

== Jade: panic

"Dave, talk to me! I need you to tell me where we are right now."

Shit. Shit shit shit she totally forgot. It was just an accident, tripping over a cart and slicing her ankle on the sharp metal edge. Here it is, a stupid, shallow cut, but under his fingers it must feel like death.

At least that's what she thinks, as he clenches his teeth and recoils from her touch. She has no way of knowing what it is he sees; only that it is too much for him to handle right now and she is so, so stupid not to warn him in the first place.

"Dave, please, _please,_ I'm here. Let me help you." He jerks away from her with a hiss.

"Get out of the way. I need to get to the bathroom." his whisper is louder than intended, she thinks, or maybe that's just her wishing she hadn't heard it. There's blood on his fingertips and her ankle is stinging in pain again.

"No, stay here. I'll get you a klonopin." She tries to leave, but his fingers close around her arm. It's too tight, and she starts to lose feeling. He's growling, spine arched and feral, and she knows that a klonopin isn't what he's looking for.

== Dave: find that hit

It's 20 fucking feet away from him and he could be there in 7.2 seconds, if Jade wasn't so fucking insistent of staying in his way as she bleeds.

He can't move her too roughly, because if he does she'll fall to fucking pieces and he'll be left alone to reset the whole thing and hope it goes better next time. What a crock of shit this destiny thing is, dealing him a queen high while the game gets a flush every time.

How exactly does she manage to speak, he wonders… her lips barely cling to the jaws that hold them. It's all sorts of wrong. It's on a fucking holocaust level of wrong to watch everyone break again and again and again and have to pretend he's ok with fixing it.

No, he needs the white plastic bag hiding in the bathroom. One inhale and she'll be back together, and they can dance and fuck and feel like nothing could ever touch them again. He needs that more than he would ever admit to anyone, and he needs it before he starts bleeding with her. If he doesn't get it right now, they will both fucking die and she still doesn't want to move her ass.

== Jade: Strife!

There is no time for fighting, because Dave is past her already. He's fast. He can flashstep when he wants to, and there's absolutely nothing she can do about it anymore. He's done it before she even knows he's gone.

The sound his snorting makes cuts deep, and lingers in the air long after the moment has passed. It's a disgusting noise on every level, one that makes Jade queasy and insecure. She's defeated now. The next few hours are lost.

== Jade: reconcile

It's futile, she knows, but she's not one to just give up. His mouth tightens to a thin line as he stares into the mirror, hands shaking as he leans all his weight into them. He stabilizes, albeit slowly.

She pulls a bathrobe around herself quickly. Here, under the fluorescent light and Dave's desperation, she's feeling terribly exposed.

He looks wild as ever, ready to attack. Every muscle in his body twitches as she watches, his fingers flexing and curling against the white marble sink.

"Dave?" well, that sounded meeker than she wanted it to. He doesn't answer anyway.

"Dave." Her voice is stronger this time. She needs to get through to him. "Are you okay?"

He barks. Maybe it was meant as a laugh, but there is no humor in it.

"I'm alive, aren't I? What more do you want from me?"

She doesn't know how to answer, not really. She wants him to be better than okay, better than alive… No, she doesn't say that, that sounds stupid even in her head. Instead she reaches out to touch his shoulder.

"Come to bed?"

Dave turns to look at her, his face as deadpan as ever. His pupils are wide and all consuming, overpowering any other emotion he might have shown. Jade can't help but think of a cat before a kill.

He doesn't say a word as he brushes past her to the living room. The bed is too much for him on nights like these; he always ends up alone on the couch.

It was always a futile attempt, and Jade knew it even before she approached him by the sink. She had accepted her defeat in those moments of silence as she sat on the bedroom floor.

Somehow that doesn't help the disappointment that follows.

* * *

== Jade: ask for help

John is easy. All she has to do is pick up the phone and listen to him yammer for a little bit. He insists that she's overreacting, and that everything is fine, but he's wanted to visit anyway. Dirk is a little different.

Jade's brother-in-law never made much sense to her. He sits there, staring blankly at the TV in the midst of his hurricane apartment upstairs, weapons and puppets and take-out trays littering every inch of the floor. How could he be so completely bizarre and yet somehow so imposing? More often than not she is able to find a way to relate to him, but the gravity of this situation easily outweighs her bond with the enigma on the couch; she can only see him as the foreign presence he is.

"So, um…" she begins, unsure of where to go. She could stop here, if she wanted. She's just say she was looking for him to return her rifle, giggle, and be gone. It would be a whole lot easier.

"What is it, kid?" He takes a swig of beer, still facing the screen. She shifts slightly, uncomfortable.

"Look," she starts, pausing to swallow her pride, "Dave's been in trouble lately. He comes home hurt sometimes and I don't think he listens to me very well anymore."

He only has to turn slightly to look at her, but the intense scrutiny of his gaze causes her to fall silent anyway. The floor is suddenly completely fascinating, and she finds herself admiring it, looking for anything to focus on besides her brother-in-law. There's an obscene looking puppet sprawled over a set of shuriken on the floor near her injured foot. That's one deathtrap she'll have to avoid on the way out.

"You want me to talk to him?" she glances to him; his face still hasn't changed in the slightest. She nods, quicker and more enthusiastically than she would have liked. Her hair shakes out behind her.

He takes another sip of beer, eyeing her intently but saying nothing. She shifts again.

"So… will you?"

He doesn't say anything, but slowly rises from the couch. He brushes past her as he moves, rummaging through the kitchen cupboard for something she can't see. Finally he slams a box down on the counter.

"For your foot." He mumbles, before grabbing his beer and leaving the room. Jade moves to the counter, finding a box of alcohol swabs and medical tape waiting for her. She smiles to herself; honestly, he could just come out and say that he's worried.

Still, does this mean he's actually going to talk to Dave?

…why does he have a first aid kit in the kitchen?


	5. The Man Who Sold The World

Notes from Mama Lobster: John is the best bro. Named for "The Man Who Sold The World" by David Bowie. Or Nirvana if you're a Cobain kind of person.

* * *

The Man Who Sold The World

== John: enter

The place is a mess when you walk in, script pages littered all over the floor and crumpled notes overflowing from the garbage. Not that Jade's a neat freak, but something about this place screams "bachelor pad" in a way it really shouldn't for a married couple. You can see the light from Dave's holographic keyboard reflected down the hall, and hear him muttering to himself in the living room.

== John: say hi

Looking at him, you really don't have much of an idea what Jade was talking about. Sure, he's lost a little bit of weight, but haven't you all? You're not running around fighting monsters anymore, it's only natural that the muscle would fade with time.

"Hi Dave!" Your greeting is pretty quickly drowned out by the squealing excitement of your daughter. She barrels out of your grip, latching onto Uncle Dave's midsection. He ruffles her hair, kneeling down to meet her at eye level.

"Sup little lady?" She holds her fist out expectantly, and he meets it with his own. His head turns and his eyes meet yours. Well, they probably do? Really, you're flattered that he likes your gift so much, but he's a little too old to pull off the "I wear shades inside" thing. He looks like a tool.

"Hey John. To what do I owe the whatever the fudge you call this… harassment? Pestering? Invasion of the personal space of a guy trying to enjoy a perfectly good day off?"

"All your days are off. And don't act like you aren't happy to see us." He smirks to himself and you know it's true. He confirms it with the quickest of quick bro hugs, the feel of his ribs hard and sharp under his shirt.

"So what brings you by?" He's taking out a cigarette, and you have to knock it out of his hand.

"Dude, seriously, not in front of Casey." She's picked up the cigarette off the floor, examining it carefully.

"Daddy, what is it?"

"It's something you shouldn't be touching, honey. Ever. It's bad for you. Please put it down." She doesn't put it down, though. She just keeps looking at it like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

"What do you do with it?"

Dave snorts a little, and you kind of want to smack him. "You smoke it, kid, you put it in your mouth and inhale. But don't. Listen to your dad and all that stuff."

"Dave, shut up! You'll give her ideas!" You yank the cigarette away from Casey, crumpling it in your hands before she can process what's happened. Honestly, what is he thinking taking those out in front of her?

Casey crosses her arms at you, scowling. "I already have ideas, I don't need Uncle Dave to give me any! I'm smart enough!" Dave nods, reaching down to give her the tiniest fist bump once again. Yeah, maybe Jade had a point, something is wrong here. Dave isn't exactly a model citizen, but he's definitely not a bad influence and he never tries to undermine your parenting.

"Casey, I need you to go watch TV for a bit, okay? You can use Uncle Dave's giant one in the living room." Casey squeaks in excitement, practically lifting off the floor in her hurry to go check out everything that wasn't basic cable. Dave's eyeing you… again, probably? Jeez, it's hard to tell with those things.

"Dave, seriously, take those off, we're not kids anymore and you just look silly. It's dark in here!"

"How about fuck you? I like them." Ugh. Stubborn ass.

"Can you see anything? No really, how many fingers am I holding up?" He swats your hand away as you wave it in front of his face, and swats hard. Harder than she should have, really, your hand is still stinging.

"So, Jade's been telling me that you're not doing so well."

"I'm pretty fucking awesome, thanks for asking. Got a new movie deal going, creepy clone bro's getting me the hookup. Shit's gonna be tight as fuck." His voice is cracking and oddly high-pitched. "What about you? Didn't the Casemaster win a math test or a piano concert or something the other day?"

"She got third place in a spelling bee, thanks for asking. I'm pretty sure she's disappointed that she didn't make it higher up, but you should have seen her going against kids twice her age! What kind of five year old knows how to spell "conceited?" What kind of five year old even knows what "conceited" means?"

"Clearly the Lalegbert kind. The best kind there is." He smirks, reaching for another cigarette.

"Hey, didn't I just tell you not to do that in front of her?"

"Did you?"

"Yes, I did. What the heck is going on with you, man?"

"I dunno. Chill. She's in the next room anyway." You yank the lighter out of his hand before he has a chance to start spewing toxic nasty all over your little girl's air supply.

"Egbert, seriously, it's not even a thing. She's five, she doesn't care."

"She loves you, you can't be pulling this kind of crap! Normally you wouldn't be, what the hell is even going on with you?" Now that Dave's weird vice has been taken away you can see him a little more clearly. He's itching, with his fingers looking for something to occupy themselves that isn't a cigarette. His face has a pale sheen of sweat starting to form over gaunt cheekbones.

Ok, maybe you can totally see what Jade was talking about.

"Nothing going on with me, man. Nothing at all. I sit here and I smoke and I play my goddamn music. Sometimes I draw to mix it up. Shits bland as fuck at Casa de Strider."

"And Jade? She seems to have a pretty different version of events. She called for backup and everything."

"Jade can suck my dick, then." He snorts.

The urge to smack him is overwhelming. You fail to resist it, and he steps back a foot in surprise.

"Egbert, what the fuck? Can't a guy make a joke?" you feel a slight satisfaction from the handprint starting to form along his cheek.

"Um, no?! That's my sister! She's already stressed from trying to figure out her new work situation, and now you're acting like a giant fuckass on top of it? Are you high?"

His fingers twitch at the mention of "high." What. The. Fuck.

"Shit Dave, you can't be serious. It's the middle of the day and you're sitting at home alone."

"Yeah, well, sometimes a guy just needs to smoke a bowl to chill. Jade loves that shit when she gets back from the grind. Besides, I write better this way. Or worse. Either way the producers fucking love it."

But something's still not quite right. You remember college; you remember what it was like being around Dave when you guys used to smoke together. You'd laugh and stuff your faces and he'd agree to watch whatever movie you picked, and more than anything he was nice. Nicer that he was when he was sober, even. He'd loosen up and smile often, hoarding all the chocolate in the room but always saving the last piece for Jade.

"You're not high, are you… are you?"

"Fuck's it matter? You're gonna be pissed at me either way. Did you really drop by just to yell at me about Jade?"

"I came by to make sure you were okay. If you're gonna be an ass about it I can take Casey and leave."

"Then do it, I've got shit to do."

Well, that's not exactly the reaction you expected. Dave usually backs down at the thought of actually being left behind. He smirks, realizing he's called your bluff.

"Yeah, I thought so. So what, did you want to watch a movie or some shit? Most of the stuff I got is slightly less than kid friendly, if slightly less than kid friendly means either porn or Quentin Tarantino. Jade's still got some Squiddles tapes stashed around here somewhere."

"Dave, I just want to know what's going on with you? Why are you being so weird?"

"Why are _you_ being so fucking weird? I'm just trying to mind my own business, you're the ones who showed up out of fucking nowhere to mess with me."

Well, that stings a little more than you were letting on. The smirk on his face leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I'm trying to help, you fucking douche. If you don't want me around just say so, but don't put this on me. We're worried, that's all."

"I'm fucking fine. Shit is fucking glorious, really, I just had the most awesome fucking Mary Jane and now I'm trying to do my work."

"You're not fooling anyone, stop pretending. What are you actually on right now?"

He snarls, "I'm on a high from minding my own damn business. You should try it, Egbert. Mellows you right the fuck out."

And you honestly can't deal anymore. Looking at his pissed of, bony face is making you feel something between pity and physical illness.

"Casey? Casey, get in here! We're leaving!" Dave's demeanor changes in the blink of an eye.

"Wait, what?" Suddenly he's looking nervous.

Casey slinks into the room reluctantly. "Already? But I wanted to watch the end of Toy Story with Uncle Dave. You would be Woody and he would be Buzz."

"No, kid, you can stay, I'll be Buzz if you-"

"Listen, honey, Uncle Dave is really tired and kind of cranky. It's time for us to go and let him think about what he's doing to himself."

"What's he doing to himself?"

Dave's moved from nerves to outright panic at this. "John, come on man…"

All you can manage is a glare, and you hate your eyes for prickling this way. You only hope he can't see the water. "Come on what?"

He sighs. "F…udge, I'm sorry. I like… um, snow, alright? You know what I mean. It's not a big deal."

Huh.

Except it is a big deal. He's sitting here, alone in his apartment in the middle of the afternoon, high as a kite on cocaine. That's a pretty fucking big deal if you've ever heard one, and you really wish you hadn't brought Casey with you on this little adventure. Even now she's tugging at your pant leg, asking why her Uncle Dave is talking about snow when it's 75 degrees and raining. She likes snow, too.

"Maybe Dave and I can play in it together sometimes?" That's it. The stupid naïve innuendo layering that statement is more than you can deal with, and this isn't a good time to talk to Dave anyway.

"I don't think that's a good idea, honey, but we'll come back and play with Dave another time." You rise, trying your best to stare down Dave. Even when thin and panicked, he's taller and more imposing than you.

"Take off your glasses." You have to ask, because you have to be sure. There's a part of you that just can't believe your best bro would be sulking around snorting coke at 1 PM. The corners of his mouth twitch and his eyebrows furrow, but he does what you say, flinching at the light. Shit. No wonder he needed glasses, his eyes can't possibly be working right with his pupils so wide and his whites so bloodshot.

"We're gonna talk about this another time, ok? You'd better be ready." He scowls, but doesn't disagree. You take Casey by the hand, still watching Dave shift uncomfortably in his own skin until he finally caves and shoves his glasses back on his face.

What a sad, sad sight.

* * *

== John: come back later

You try to, but Casey's having trouble with her homework and you don't have time to find a sitter. Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow comes, and you call, but he doesn't pick up. You can't get a hold of Jane to babysit, and Karkat and Terezi want to come by for dinner anyway. Alright, but definitely some time this week.

You call the next day, but he still doesn't pick up. Jade calls you from her lunch break, and you pause your current piano lesson to answer. You can't talk long, but she's upset again. Dave threw Rose out of the house when she came to visit. Clearly this is a bad time for you to stop by.

The next day you want to drop by the apartment, but Casey's knees got scraped at recess and she looks so hurt and sad. She needs her dad right now.

You have a gig the next night, just at a dive bar downtown, but still. The pay is good and you really need the money. Casey needs her yearly physical again, and insurance is hard to come by in freelance work. It's time to focus. You miss Jade's call.

The last time you try, everything seems like it's going to work out. Jane was home to babysit Casey, and your gig went even smoother than expected. You drop by the apartment again, trying to brace yourself for the state you might find Dave in.

Instead you find Jade and Dirk. The elder Strider stands still by the window, arms crossed and face unreadable. Jade's huddled up at her desk with her palm against her forehead, collapsed into herself like a balloon the morning after Casey's birthday.

"Guys?" Your voice is less confident than it should be.

She turns weakly to look at you, eyes rimmed with red and nose running, her mouth set in a bitter, straight line.

"Dave's not here, if you're looking for him. He's out with Gamzee. He has been since last night." Dirk scoffs his disgust. This is all really confusing.

"Gamzee? When the heck did they start hanging out?"

Jade shrugs. "Been a while, I guess. I would have never known if I didn't see them together." She laughs, swallowing a sniffle. "Funny how the psychopath that wanted him dead seems to be the only one left that he wants around."

"I don't think "wants" is the right phrasing. Little shit." Dirk spits the words, still staring intently out the window.

Jade buries her face further into her hands, shoulders shaking. You rubbing her back seems to help a little.

"Gamzee's going to kill him with that stuff, I think." Her voice is so muffled you can barely understand what she's saying. You wish there was something you could say, some evidence to prove her wrong, but you don't know if you could believe it yourself.

* * *

Dave gets back at 11 that night, pushing past you and Jade to collapse in the bedroom. Jade excuses herself, moving back to her desk, and you can hear the click of a reading lamp and the light rustling of paper. Dirk doesn't say a word as he retreats to whatever mysterious endeavors he gets up to.

You're worried, and you want to go in and check on him more than anything. His snores echo from the room, and you wonder if sleep might be a more important issue for him now.

Jade responds lightly when you hug her goodbye, squeezing your hand as it wraps around her shoulders from behind. "Go home." She murmurs. "Casey must be wondering where you are. We can handle things here, I promise."

As much as you want to stay with her, you know she's right. There's nothing else you can do here, and Casey needs her father.

Still, you can hear Jade's sobbing begin even as you walk through the door, and you feel like the worst friend in the world.


	6. What a Wicked Gang Are We!

Notes from Mama Lobster:** Violence ahoy!** I hope you children are ready for it. And to my reviewers: A) I love you B) things have to get worse before they can get better. Prepare your hearts... and C) oh man, you have no idea how many updates I can produce. I love a challenge. My dear collaborator and I will Hussie the shit out of this if the demand is there for it.

Named for "What a Wicked Gang Are We!" by Streetlight Manifesto.

* * *

What a Wicked Gang Are We!

== Be Dave

It's gone. Holy shit every last bit of it is fucking gone and you are stuck feeling like you've been run over by a truck full of sweat and shitty memories.

_Keep it back, Dave. You have other stashes. Just don't fucking think about the game._

The oxy in the bathroom. The coke under the mattress. Even your goddamn liquor from behind the fucking ficus tree is all fucking gone.

Shit.

17 hours, 48 minutes and 21 seconds since you had a line. 22, 23, 24…

Phone is gone, too. Why would someone take that? You need to call Gamzee. You need a hook up, and you need it now.

_Gamzee killed everyone. They died. All of them. Now he wants to kill you too._

Keep your goddamn knees steady, Strider, keep going forward. Your shoulder hurts. Oh, it's bleeding. How long have you been scratching at it now?

Exactly 42.5 seconds. Why do you even bother pretending you don't know?

The rage builds. At what, you're not exactly sure.

Bro threatened to do it once. He said he was fucking sick of dealing with you when you didn't know what was what, when you were so out of your own head that you couldn't even recognize the people around you. He doesn't know shit about you, what the fuck gives him the right?

You never thought he had the balls, but there he is, sitting all smug on _your_ couch like Christmas came motherfucking early.

== Be Dirk

The kid looks like shit. He looks like a goddamn horses ass and that is his own damn problem that you sure as hell are not gonna put up with.

Fuck no. No mercy here.

You wonder for a second if he's gonna throw a punch. He looks it, the way he's itching. Not a problem. You could take him in his prime, before he started using his brain as a goddamn chemistry set. Not an expert one, one made for fucking dumbass high school students in remedial science for the third year in a row. One caked in sludge and cyanide, and probably ready to blow any fucking second.

His shoulder is bleeding. Ok, maybe you feel a little guilty, but it's not the time for that shit. Your little brother needs help and you aren't gonna put on the kid gloves about it.

== Dirk: step up

Dave's right in your face, so it's not like you have a choice. Stand up. Face him. When the fuck did he get so tall?

He won't talk, just stares. What a skinny little fuckass he is. He was skinny as a kid, too. Ate like a goddamn horse, not that it ever did him any good. It was everything you could do to keep the fridge stocked enough for him. You tried, at least. Money was tight, and sometimes you had to make do with ramen. If he complained, you could just whack him.

He steps closer again, looming a couple of inches taller than you and a thousand times more desperate. You don't think whacking him will be enough to shut him up this time.

"What did you do?" Dave's voice is breaking and you have to stare him down.

_Do not, under any circumstances, give in to him._

"What I had to."

_Keep your gaze steady. Don't back down. Don't you fucking look away from him, he is your kid and he will learn to fucking listen to what's good for him._

He's close enough for you to see his eyes behind the shades. Fucking angry, terrified, hateful red eyes. This is a wounded, cornered hawk, ready to fly and defend and blindly attack, but not entirely sure which.

"Where did you put it?" Dave's voice is low and dangerous, closer to a hiss than a question.

"In the sewer. Where shit like that belongs."

You're tempted to take his shades off for a moment, let him know who's boss. But you can't. This is delicate; you're not dumb enough to charge in and do something stupid. He needs to listen to you, and he won't do that if he hates your guts.

He steps closer and snarls. Shit, kid, brush your teeth. You taught him better than that.

_If you don't act fast this hawk is gonna claw your eyes out._

You have to take a breath; that's not gonna happen. No matter what happens you can take him. "Dave, you're gonna fuck up your life if you keep this shit—"

He only lands the hit because you're not expecting it. That's what you tell yourself, anyway.

== Dave: Strife!

Dirk's head is harder than you remember, and your hand hurts a lot more than you thought it would. It's been a while since you hit anything alive and you guess your form isn't quite what it should be.

Your Bro is reeling, and that's pride that wells in your chest. Yeah, you should make him hurt. Make him bleed. He'll feel everything you do and more.

Bro is back on you in a flash; he's faster than you. Always was. Still, even as his fists make hard contact with your face you know you have the advantage. Your Bro can feel every punch you land, but you can't feel shit past the adrenaline.

A knee to his stomach is all it takes to get him off you again, and you pin him quickly. Hit him once. Again, faster. You are frantic and fists become claws, form forgotten in favor of urgent, unyielding hate. Just make him fucking bleed, that's all that matters. Close your fingers around his neck and watch him suffer like you. His shades are gone and you can see the rage building behind his eyes.

_Fight back. Fight me_

He does. He's stronger than you are, too, and fuck if he isn't pissed. His fist sends you backwards and through the glass of Jade's display case. He's on you with his knee on your chest and his fist through your skull. It's like he's trying to reach into your mind.

Your heart pounds in your ears, and you feel no pain. Keep going, Bro.

The adrenaline rush is wonderful as Dirk grabs your shoulders and slams you into the ground. The room is spinning and you know you are close to losing consciousness.

No. Keep fighting. Stay awake.

And then, just as quickly as Dirk was on you, he's gone. He's on his feet staring at you like he's never seen you before in his life, like you're some creature from the abyss crawling out to haunt his nightmares. For the first time in all the years you've known him, your older brother is afraid. Not just afraid. Terrified.

_It feels fucking glorious._

== Be Dirk

Jegus, you need to calm down. The way your blood is pumping in your ears, you'll give yourself a heart attack.

This is not even close to what you wanted. He's still looking at you with that manic, shit-eating grin like a beatdown is what he was looking for all this time.

"Why'd you stop?" Dave's on his feet again, wiping the blood from his mouth. "I thought you were gonna kill me for a second."

Were you gonna kill him? You were pissed, of course you were. This little shithead has everything he could ever want and he's willing to throw it all away _and there doesn't seem to be a goddamn thing you can do to stop him._

But you don't want this. You never did. He hit you and you got mad, it happens, but fuck you with every sword you own if you ever actually meant to hurt him.

_So just say that._

Dave's grin is fading; the adrenaline is gone. You know, because your own heart is slowing once again.

He growls again. "Isn't that what you wanted? To hurt me? If it's not then you're a really fucking fantastic actor. I could put you in my next movie and watch you blow the minds of every critic worldwide."

That isn't what you want and the little shit knows it. He'd better know it, anyway.

"It's not like you were ever actually going to help me. I'd been struggling with this shit for years and you just sat there like a goddamn invalid waiting for us to spoon-feed you your tapioca. 'Oh gee, Dave, I get that you're busy saving the universe and all, but I hope you'll still support my goddamn stupid puppet fetish while I sit around and wreck all your shit! Oh, you need a little something to calm down after work? Too fucking bad for you, that's going for a ride down the grand porcelain chute!"

Little fucker's got it all wrong. You love the shit out of this kid and this has been killing you, but what the fuck can you do?

_Say that._

"Fuck you, Bro. Fuck you and fuck your puppets and fuck whatever help you think you've ever given me. If this isn't sinking in for you yet, let me give you a hint: it isn't any. If you wanted to fuck me up me you could have just taken the first swing like a normal goddamn person."

_Say it say it say it._

You want to say everything, how much you hated watching him struggle and all the times you had called Rose and Jade for advice, how it made your heart sick to know that your kid brother had made so much of himself and become such an amazing person and he still couldn't see it past the trauma. You know how he screams at night and you wish you could be there to help him, but what the fuck could you even do? You're not good at this. You hate seeing him hurt, and you would rather run than deal with it.

_SAY IT._

You open your mouth. Dave looks at you, almost hopeful. The plea in his eyes is too much for you to handle. Where do you even start? Fuck, your heart is going a million miles an hour and why the fuck are you so scared he's just a kid can't someone just make you talk like a goddamn ventriloquist…

The silence says more than you ever meant to.

_Shit._

You make sure to shut the door behind you when you leave the apartment. Dave's frustrated shouts are muffled behind the heavy frame, but the sound of shattering glass gets through clear as a goddamn crystal bell.

_What a massive, blundering fuck-up you are._

As you sink down against the door, you really, really wish you knew how to cry.


	7. Slave and Sycophant

Notes from Mama Lobster: **Drugs. Oh my gog drugs.** And everyone, meet Gamzee. Again.

Named for lyrics from "500 Channels" by Choking Victim

* * *

Slave and Sycophant

a.k.a. lobsterMatriarch takes artistic liberty with troll anatomy and drug use.

== Dave: call

The dude's a weirdo, but that doesn't stop him from having the best shit you've ever experienced in your life. No, you don't really want him in your apartment, but its not like Gamzee's dangerous or anything. Well, not anymore, anyway. Probably. Karkat was really insistent that he's ok now, not that you can really trust that asshole to be a great judge of character.

The nagging worry you have is still not enough to stop you from dialing his number. The itch keeps getting further under your skin and the headache you have forming is just too goddamn strong for you to care about murderous clown hijinks or whatever.

He's at your door in 4 minutes and 20 seconds, and you briefly wonder if he has anything else going on in his life. His smile curls to reveal some dangerous-looking fangs, and somehow you doubt that anyone else would be crazy enough to spend time with this douche.

His breath reeks as he greets you with a lazy drawl. "Fuck me if it isn't my motherfuckin' best customer right here. To what do I owe this motherfuckin' pleasure?"

The way he's leering at you through half-lidded eyes puts you even more on edge. Not the best of your ideas, Strider, bringing him here into the fucking sweet apartment you share with your fucking sweet wife who would absolutely fucking murder you if she knew about this. She's already crashing at John's place after dealing with your and bro's fight, if she fucking finds out about this…

Whatever. Get the goods and get him out before anyone can see.

"Don't flatter your creepy clown ass. You know damn well there's only one reason I'd allow the unironic antichrist to defile the awesome-as-fuck Casa de Strider."

Gamzee's unfazed. You wonder briefly if there's anything you could do to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. No, really, it'd be starting to get under your skin if you weren't federally too cool for that.

"Always soundin' so bitter, man. Take some time an' smell the motherfuckin' roses. Or somethin' a little stronger, if that's more your style..." The way he's dangling that grubby little plastic bag in front of you like you're a goddamn dog with a treat… you'd kick his ass out if the itch weren't getting so bad.

You reach for it like the dumb little puppy you are. Maybe you haven't been potty trained well enough yet, because he yanks it away with alarming precision.

"Chill, you stressed out little motherfucker. Why the hurry? We got some motherfuckin' catching up to do. Not like you ever call just to hang out anymore, it's always 'coke this, pills that, get the motherfuck out of my face'. Shit's almost motherfuckin' hurtful." He's stepping up to you now, and you can see the repulsive scar tissue raised against his busted nose. Way too close, this fucker is all up in your business and he is just not going to help you stop the ringing in your ears, this stupid fucking clown smells so fucking nasty…

You've lunged at him before you're even aware of what you're doing, and somehow he's still faster. His face is just inches from yours and that shit-eating grin just will not quit. When he speaks you can almost feel the stench invading every pore of your skin.

"I'm just trying to tell you, brother, I got newer, better shit than before, an' I think it's time for you to expand your motherfuckin' thinkpan."

Gamzee's "shit" is already pretty fucking acceptable, bringing you to the ends of the universe and back. His claws wrap around your wrist, slithering together loosely, almost imperceptibly. Clearly you don't need- oh shit NASTY, is he on your neck? You try to jerk away, but the fucker is as deceptively strong as he is fast.

"You just don't motherfuckin' understand the miracles I'm tryin' to show you. Let me in." The bag of innocent white powder is replaced in a split second with something darker, still a mere few inches from your face. That is some awesome slight of hand he's got going on, you begrudgingly have to admit. You struggle, and finally break free of his grasp.

"Do not fucking touch me. And what even is that shit?"

He chuckles to himself, though his fucking eerie-ass stare is less than mirthful. He slices into the bag with a single talon, and in one fluid, hypnotic motion, he curls his long tongue around his fingers and takes the brown powder into his mouth.

"This right here is the face of the messiah, my motherfuckin' troubled brother." His wide-eyed stare isn't exactly comforting, and you find your cool somehow threatened once again. "You kids call it what you like, dope, junk, it's all the motherfuckin' same to me. I know that it's the only truth in this motherfuckin' messed up universe that you little pink assholes made for us."

All too late you realize what he's about to do, and that you have no idea why you didn't stain-proof the carpet while you had the chance. His fangs sink deeply into the crook of his arm, the thick purple liquid hissing and boiling in contact with the poison in his mouth. He lingers, throat pulsing as his tongue pushes the heroin deep into his veins. The sizzling chemical reaction it has with Gamzee's rich blood sounds almost as awful as it looks, and burns even as he draws his mouth away from the broken skin.

Psychotic little fuck just keeps smiling like nothing happened, gently licking at the excess purple staining his lips.

"Whoa whoa whoa what the FUCK are you doing you FUCKING freak?!"

Yeah, your cool is pretty much gone. You hope the gods of irony find it forgivable after that creepy fucking mess you just saw.

Gamzee's smile is ever serene, half-lidded eyes losing focus. "What you should be doin' too. Say whatever you want, motherfucker, but you called me here for a reason. You and I ain't so different, really. You just need to let yourself go, feel the universe like I do. Share in the motherfuckin' miracle before the mundane starts rottin' your thinkpan. It's already started. I can see it in the way your motherfuckin' hands shake."

He knows. He can hear the buzzing that's flooding your ears and feel the itch crawling below your skin and muscle. He knows what you see when you dream, when a loud noise startles you in public or a clock ticks by your bedside. He's always been able to cure it before.

But this… this shit is fucking freaky. There's no going back from what you just saw.

He's too close again. Didn't anyone ever teach this psycho about personal space? No, apparently they fucking did not, says the hot breath pressing into your cheek. He presses the familiar white bag into your chest, leaving the sticky, warm blood smeared across your shirt.

"Your usual, man. An' this right here," he shoves another brown bag into your hand, "this is a fuckin' gift. This is what's gonna save you."

For a brief moment, you think you can see his mask of serenity crack. Gamzee's leer is far from innocent, his fanged smile growing wider and more deranged as eyes tinged with red meet your own. His hand draws slowly, patiently nearer to your face, threatening, ready to strike…

"HONK." he presses a forefinger to your nose and smiles. As quickly as he came, he's gone, and all you can do is stare, stupefied, at the revolting purple stain spreading on your carpet.

Dude, seriously. Fuck clowns.


	8. Some Nights

Notes from Mama Lobster: Welp. **Sexy time.** Bringing back Jade, and trying to keep it tasteful.

* * *

Some Nights

== Jade: enjoy dinner

On nights like this, you are an optimist. The air in your apartment feels a little cleaner, Dave's dry chicken smells a little better, and his pale blond hair feels a little softer against your face. Work isn't an issue for you today, you don't mind coming home dirty and sweaty because Dave just hugged you anyway.

Not before he tells you that you smell like week-old puppet ass, though.

He's been writing again. He has a script for you, one that he's so very, very excited about. Of course, he'd never say as much, but you can tell by the way his voice raises just a little bit as the vaguely humorous metaphors slip out. After dinner you'll read it, you promise. It's been a long day at work and you're tired and hungry.

Dave rubs your feet for you. He hates feet, unless they're yours. "Feet attached to sexy legs like this are ok." He smirks at you and runs his hand up your shin. You are far too ticklish for that, and when you jerk you kick him and knock his glasses off. That's ok. He just snickers and grips down tighter around your calf. Your foot left a little smudge of mud on his cheek that you have to wipe away. It was covering his freckles.

You run a hand through his hair, grabbing and pulling him towards you. He tastes like cigarettes and too much garlic, and right now that is the perfect flavor. Tonight there is no alcohol on his breath, and you feel optimistic again.

He pulls you close, resting his head on your shoulder and offers muffled apologies about his behavior, about how he's treated you, neglected you, and made you afraid. He's just so sad in that moment that you can't do anything but forgive him. You make him promise to quit using, to go to a meeting, and he agrees. He knows he has a problem.

Cautiously, he confesses that his flashbacks have been getting worse lately, and he doesn't know how to control them. You suggest talking to Rose, and ask what you can do to help bring him back when he's having trouble. He says he doesn't know, but that whatever you do can't be startling. Approaching him slowly and talking helps sometimes, and you promise that next time you'll try it.

He smiles and kisses your hair, mumbling something about you being able to save the world again. You laugh, telling him to just give you the stupid script before you tell John what a sap his best bro really is. He bites your ear playfully before pulling away, handing you a USB drive to check out when you have the chance.

But you really do need to shower. Honestly, you both can barely stand the smell.

* * *

The water feels good against your back, stripping off the sweat and dirt that come with a hard day's work. You can finally release your hair from the tight braid you have to keep it in, allowing it to soak up the water and spill down your shoulders.

On nights like this, you wonder how you were ever not an optimist. Of course things will be all right. You have a great home and hot water over sore muscles, and your feet still tingle from the lavish attention they received earlier. Nothing could possibly be wrong with this.

A long arm snakes behind your back, carrying a giant fluffy towel, and another reaches behind your knees. Dave only sweeps you off your feet on special occasions, and you wonder what he has planned behind that poker face of his. You whine about being wet and naked while he is dry and fully clothed, but he doesn't care much. Neither do you, to be honest. You just like the smirk he makes when you pout.

He throws you onto the bed unceremoniously, crawling over you with eyes half lidded and heavy breath. He hasn't wanted you like this in a long time, made you feel beautiful and admired and ready. His mouth works the sensitive flesh around your neck as he presses inside you, whispering about how amazing you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to have you by his side. You don't need to hear any of it, because you can feel it in the way his body moves. You claw at his back and gasp, pressing your chest against his and losing yourself in the pleasure of his touch. He growls your name into your hair as he shudders, your muscles tensing around his in a shared release.

Dave smiles at you before collapsing into your chest, shaking and clutching at you as you stroke his hair. The pleasure begins to fade to a soft satisfaction as his breathing evens, his body heat becoming a blanket waiting to ease you into sleep. His fingers reach your own to lace together; you kiss the base of his neck.

Tonight you are an optimist. Everything in the world is beautiful; everything will be all right, because you are in love.

* * *

== Jade: make your own dinner

The lights are off in the apartment when you come home this time. Everything is off, in fact. It's pitch black.

Dave forgot to pay the electric bill this time.

You move further into the apartment, where one lonely flashlight illuminates a hunched over Dave Strider. He sees you enter and rushes you, holding on to you too tightly. He says nothing about your sweat or smell.

Dave laughs, but the noise is not happy. It's closer to frightening than anything, you think. He spins you again, a hand on your waist as if you were dancing. There is no romance in it; the spin is too fast and too harsh. You are dizzy and tired and want to sit down, and having the room spin about you is making your empty stomach feel sick.

Dave seems happy, but you know better. He has his glasses on still, here in the pitch darkness. You aren't sure of how he can see anything at all, but you have a vague idea.

"Let's fuck" Dave practically shouts it at you. He's still grinning, and before you know it he has you on the couch.

You kind of want to cry. He's scaring you.

You tell him you have a headache, and he calls you a bitch before lying down alone. You ask him gently about the electric bill, but he mumbles something incoherent and turns his back to you.

You try to touch him, and he grabs your hand and pulls.

"If you're not gonna fuck me, at least don't die on me" He growls. His face is so close; it's making you nervous again. He throws your hand away and pulls a blanket over his shoulders. The mirror and razor on the coffee table glint as the small light of the flashlight hits them.

You retreat to your room, because what choice do you have?

Dave has nightmares that night. You approach him gently, making sure not to surprise him as you speak what you hope are words of comfort, something to bring him back to the present. You voice doesn't seem to reach him, he's too busy being thirteen years old and watching his own death. You have to be extra, extra cautious when you take his hand, making sure not to startle him. He seems ok with this, realizing that you are here with him, so you wrap him up in the softest embrace you can manage. He shakes like a child against you, still growling low in fear from time to time.

Your heart aches in your chest as your own tears start to fall. You panic right there with Dave in your arms, and all you can do is hope he doesn't notice as he continues to fight with enemies who aren't there.

On nights like this, you wonder how you ever could have been an optimist.

* * *

More notes from Mama Lobster: There's a raunchier version floating around my laptop, and if there's some aching gap in the fandom that only DaveJade smut can fill maybe I'll post it later.

To everyone reading... I love you forever. All of you. Yes.

Named for Some Nights by Fun.


	9. Happy Birthday

Notes from Mama Lobster: **Drugs. Violence. **This chapter written once again by the lovely Brooke Stardust. Find her on tumblr under alexlarder or here under CullenMcGullen.

Tonnerre, I hope you check your inbox. Everyone else... a thousand times thank you.

* * *

== John: Be old.

Oh Gog no! You don't want to be old! You're too young for this! You just want to stay in your bed and sleep until everyone forgets that it is your birthday. Maybe if you don't wake up right away, you won't have to acknowledge that you have been around more than a quarter of a century.

It seems that the little girl currently tugging at your arm to pull you out of bed has different plans.

"Daddy! You have to get up! It's your birthday and you are twenty-six and we have to sing to you!"

"I can't be twenty-six yet, Casey," you roll over, hiding your head under the pillow. "Birthdays only happen when you're awake and I am clearly asleep right now."

Casey ponders this for a moment, and you almost feel bad for lying to her until she jumps onto your back. "You have to wake up then! Because birthdays are the best ever! And I have to give you a card and Auntie Jane is going to make a cake and mommy said she is bringing _presents_."

You open one of your eyes and see your daughter staring at you intently. Clearly presents are a thing that she believes you absolutely need.

Apparently you are going to be old after all.

== Casey : Help

You're already helping! Not only that, you are being the absolute best helper ever! Kana-mommy even said so! You might not be tall enough to be able to reach and hang streamers, but you can stir cake mix and help make decorations, so it's okay!

Birthdays don't happen too often, which you think is a shame. It is one of the few times a year where you get to see everyone all at once. Your dad once told you that they're so rare because it makes them more special, but you secretly think they'd still be special if they happened more often.

You are learning to crack eggs into a bowl when the doorbell rings. Auntie Jane suggests that you go answer, because your dad is still getting ready. You have to hop a little bit to reach the lock, but you finally manage and, oh man oh man!

Auntie Jane has the best suggestions _ever_.

== Dave : Be greeted

You aren't sure how Casey managed to reach the doorknob, but the moment she gets the door open, you can almost see her total excitement radiate out from her tiny person. You find it fittingly ironic that your biggest fan is the smallest person you know.

"Uncle Dave! Auntie Jade!"

"Hey kid," You scoop up your niece and carry her back into the house. You are pleased to see that the posters you shat out had made it into the decorations. Photoshopping John with the bad action movie stars made you feel a little bit dirty, but you're sure the look on his face will be worth it.

Casey is going on about something to do with eggs and how she thinks people should have birthdays every few days. She's even more talkative than normal and you suspect it's because you've been kind of distant lately. It's not like you can just turn off your goddamn mental problems, so it's been a bit easier just to kick back at home rather than risk being outside and hearing a stupid alarm clock go off or something.

She asks if you've been sick, and you almost feel guilty.

== John : Be okay with being old.

You finally managed to get yourself out of bed and showered and ready for the inevitable. The moment you got downstairs, you realized why Casey was so insistent on you waking up. The party hasn't even started yet and already people are filling your house.

Dave and Jade are helping your daughter decorate some baked goods. Jane is in the kitchen, making sure they don't run out of baked goods to decorate. Kanaya is turning your modest home into some sort of swinging hot spot and _oh my gosh is that a poster of you standing side by side with the great film actor Nic Cage as he appeared when he was in the hit action movie Face / Off?_

It _is_.

This is clearly the best thing to happen to you and it takes acknowledging that you're old to get this, then you are totally okay with being twenty-six.

== Casey : Answer the door. A lot.

After you did such a good job for your aunt and uncle, Auntie Jane said that you were appointed to be the chief door answer-er. You have to hop to reach the lock so many times you eventually decide to bring your uncle with you whenever the door rings so that he can lift you to help you.

It is still amazing to you that your daddy has so many friends! You let in the lady who likes to smell things, the silly crabby friend who yells a lot, your mommy, a whole bunch of people you don't know, and even big Uncle Dirk came with his silly puppet!

It is starting to get kind of crowded, so you're glad that Uncle Dave is willing to stay with you while your dad goes to talk to everyone. You won't say it, but you're kind of intimidated of large groups of people. You're still really small and don't want to get stepped on.

== Dave : Stay with the kid

This is totally a plan you can get behind. The more people who come trough that door, the more you want to abscond the fuck out of this party. Each person brings with them the memories that you've been trying so hard to push down.

You notice Terezi and can only think of talking to her as you tried to remove a bloody sword from your brother's busted abdomen. Kanaya moves to reapply her lipstick and you almost smack it out of her hands in case it becomes a chainsaw. You can't even look at Karkat; obnoxious fucker caused this whole fucking thing to begin with his stupid fucking code.

The only person you want to see right now has no right to be here. You can't blame John for not allowing a murderous clown into his house, but god damn you could do with a better distraction than drawing child-friendly Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff comics. You hear Terezi cackling from the other room and it causes need to radiate out from your very core.

Focus, Strider. You can get through this.

At least you can get away with being an antisocial bastard by saying you're keeping the kid out of trouble, even if it is the other way around. So long as someone is around you think you can manage.

The doorbell goes off again and you watch as Casey rushes out to answer it. You stand to follow her, but something holds you back.

It would take less than 18 seconds to write out a message and send it to him. He could be here in about 13 minutes and 44 seconds. In about 17 minutes and 2 seconds, you would be able to confidently go back into the party that you're working so hard to avoid.

You start typing out a message as fast as you can. As usual, your timing is perfect. Eighteen seconds on the mark and it's ready to go.

Five more seconds tick by, but even to your standards they feel like hours.

You can't do it.

You can't endanger John's family in his home. You can't risk Gamzee finding out where everyone is. Even having the sick fuck know that you need him is enough to make you want to delete everything and throw your phone out the window. You can do without a phone. Being perpetually connected is overrated anyway. Your muscles clench as you prepare to erase it all and forget this minor setback ever happened.

Terezi cackles again from the other room.

You send the message and hope to fucking christ he doesn't respond.

== Be John

There is a half naked woman on your doorstep. She is holding up a cupcake and is trying to ask your daughter where her father is.

You can see Dirk Strider giving you a thumbs up from the corner of the room. That man is an enigma wrapped in a puzzle covered in puppets. An puppet puzzle enigma who apparently teamed up with your ex wife to get you a stripper. A stripper who is now being offered a kid sized sweater by your child.

You are both proud and mortified.

==Dave : Seize the distraction

It's like the timing could not have been more perfect. No one is paying you any attention and you're able to slip out of the house as unnoticed as a firefly in a light-bulb convention.

Gamzee Makara is waiting for you on the corner of the street. It is almost comical to watch him as he waits for you to arrive. He's normally so adept at blending into the shadows, but in the bright suburban neighbourhood, he just looks really uncomfortable and exposed.

You walk over and grab several bills from your wallet, handing them to him as quickly as you can. He lingers his hand over yours before taking the money. It's like he wants to experience the contact for as long possible.

"I sure as motherfuck was not expectin' to see you today," he comments, nodding lazily to John's house. "Thought we wasn't on for another few days. Hearin' your tone on my miraculous message bringin' device was like a call from the fallen angels, my brother."

You have no idea what he is talking about, but then again, you rarely do. It's not like you'd be associating with this asshole if he didn't have exactly what you needed. He stares at you, breathing heavily, clearly waiting for you to express a similar excitement for your early reunion.

"Yeah, it's great. Nothing I love more than providing the gospel choir for your hell cell phone," you cross your arms impatiently. You have to start getting back. You can't risk having Jade notice you left.

"We make the most beautiful dark music together," he hands you the bag you so greatly crave. "Like a motherfuckin' swan song."

"The swan must have been shot in the head, squawking out its dying breath or something," you mutter. He hands you a mirror and you take out the blade from your wallet.

"Donno, man," he shrugs, holding the glass still as you snort the line into your system. "Some of the most motherfuckin' miraculous tunes I ever heard came from the dyin' breaths of some motherfuckers."

You are starting to feel a familiar warm rush and all the care you would have had over Gamzee's statement seems to escape out of your every pore. You begin to feel detached, grounded, confident. The murderous psychopath in front of you is just another guy, and you could not care less about his past actions.

You shake his hand a little too hard and make your way back to the party.

== Dirk : Notice everything

It is almost embarrassing at how obviously Dave sneaks his way back into the house. The door slams a little too loud and his flashstepping is a far too slow to be convincing.

You readjust Cal on your shoulders and change positions in your chair so that you have a direct line of sight on your brother. He did not go and re-seclude himself, you notice, but is instead talking everyone up like he's at some sleazy Hollywood event.

Right, this is more than almost embarrassing. This is very embarrassing. His movements are getting jerky and erratic, and he's talking louder and louder. You watch as Jade goes to stand by her slime brother, distancing herself from her husband as much as possible. The usually oblivious John Egbert seems to notice something is up as well, shepherding his kid over.

Dave is talking to the pointy horned girl and the way he's standing is making you want to get him the fuck out of there. Whatever she's saying seems to be doing something to the kid and you're pretty sure it's not something good.

She leans in to… lick him? Is that really a thing that's happening right now? God damn trolls are weird. You get so caught up in trying to figure out the why that was just a thing that happened that you completely miss the egg timer going off in the kitchen.

Had you been paying attention, you might have been able to shut it off sooner.

Ninja skills your ass.

== Be Dave

Being Dave is kind of difficult right now because you have no idea where the fuck you are.

Everything is lava and trolls and streamers and fucking sulfur ogres. You have to destroy them. You have to take them down before do something to activate the Beat Mesa and scratch your whole session prematurely. You've seen what happens when shit goes down that timeline and you can't let it get that far.

Not again, at least.

== Be John

You are John Egbert you are watching your entire livelihood be completely fucking destroyed by your best friend. You would have been able to accept if he took down any other inanimate object in the house, but he had to pick the one thing you needed to survive.

The piano is destroyed enough, Dave. It's been kicked and punched to near splinters. There is no need to start ripping out the keys and strings and throw them along the floor.

He does it anyway, and you can't help but wince.

You start thinking of how you're going to make money now. Without a piano, you can't give lessons or practice for concerts. You're can't compose or record or even do something as simple as practice. The weight of the situation comes crashing down and you feel like you're going to throw up.

There is no way you will be able to afford another piano, let alone another antique Steinway. You are already struggling to make ends meet as it is.

Jade keeps apologizing to you, shouting nonsense over and over. Your head is ringing so much you don't hear half of what she says.

== Dirk : Intervene

Everyone is staring as your brother beats the shit out of a harmless musical instrument. The sounds that it is emitting as he pummels the hell out of it would make for an excellent soundtrack, you think as you try to get a firm grip on him. Especially accompanied by his incoherent screaming.

Dave may have been in top strifing condition at one point, but his form seems to be totally lost. He's wiggling and struggling, but you finally manage to pin him down, holding him there until his breathing slows a bit and some of the focus comes back in is eyes.

_Pupils bigger than the strippers tits, jegus kid. What the fuck did you do now?_

Dave continues to struggle, but the fight isn't in him anymore. You glance up and notice the whole party still staring, watching as your brother comes back from wherever the fuck he went. You tighten your grip on him, hauling him up to stand on his own two feet so you can get him out of there. He stumbles and you drag him along instead.

John and Jade watch silently as you pass by to get to the door. You briefly entertain the thought of trying to explain what happened, trying to apologize for what Dave just did. It would be useless though, you truthfully have no explanation for why your younger brother would go psychotic and wreck his best bro's shit.

Dave leans on you heavily, and you decide to just leave in silence. If asked, you'd make up some bullshit excuse about letting the kid keep his dignity. In reality, you just have no idea what to say to make this even slightly okay.


	10. Once Upon Your Dead Body

Notes from Mama Lobster: **Intensely stupid monologue. **Brooke likes to think this chapter was narrated to the pigeons sitting around John's house. Gamzee is fucking glorious to write as, so this is 100% self indulgence.

Named for the Coheed and Cambria song.

* * *

Once Upon Your Dead Body

== Gamzee: soliloquy

What's that, my motherfucking brothers and sisters? You want me to stay? It would be motherfuckin' impossible not to. Course I ain't stupid enough to leave before the carnival begins, and I just have to welcome you to the motherfuckin' show. Step right up and watch the most mirthful of motherfuckin' messiahs in action.

Do you hear his screaming? The way the little girl cries for him to stop, the way his friends stare in shock and horror? Sure you do. That motherfuckin' spectacle is just the beginnin', my beautiful, wonderful brethren. Stop in and listen a little motherfuckin' closer.

Yeah, the motherfuckin' windy boy sings out a lament of his own. It's quiet, but it makes for a motherfuckin' righteous harmony when paired with the knight and his pretty little bitch. Listen to the motherfuckin' bass, dropped by the failed motherfuckin' guardian. The noise his heart makes as it races, faster with the motherfuckin' agony he'll never release unto the world.

But, my brothers and sisters, you know who keeps the beat. You know this motherfuckin' spectacle needs its goddamn chemical sponsors, the drumline to keep this party on the motherfuckin' track to oblivion. You know that in the end it's my hands and my motherfuckin' thinkpan that pulls the motherfuckin' strings.

Oh, the silence falls. The motherfuckin' calm before this spectacular motherfuckin' tempest. There she is, the seer, the last beat in the measure, too busy keepin' her own motherfuckin' light in line. She keeps the silence. She's the one who knows the motherfuckin' truth, of course she is. The crowd disperses, but please don't go! Brothers and sisters, we've only just begun.

The Seer knows first. She's so busy trying to organize and compartmentalize, she's motherfuckin' forgetting the feelings these little dancers around her have. She's pokin' and proddin' and thinkin' she's all motherfuckin' useful, but you, my brothers and sisters, you know better. You know the motherfuckin' windy boy can't be talked down with clinical terms, not when there's a bright little windy girl lookin' at him and he doesn't know where he can get the cash for her motherfuckin' dinner. Just look at him. Look at the fingers clenching, the anger, the sadness, the motherfuckin' morose, beautiful harmony of it all. For all her motherfuckin' smarts the Seer can't see she's in way over her head.

Then there's the girl with the heart of a beast. Watchin' her get tamed was a motherfuckin' glorious spectacle, brothers and sisters. Look at the way she obeys, standin' aside for my motherfuckin' chemical sponsors to work their motherfuckin' magic. She's so motherfuckin' domesticated, look close. You can see it in the void behind her eyes. Poor little bitch, this can't be what the motherfuckin' magical feral child wanted out of life. Her Knight in shining armor turned out to be a straw man in motherfuckin' tin. It's motherfuckin' miraculous what my chemical sponsors can do, even to the people they've never motherfuckin' touched.

Ah, and the Knight himself. The motherfuckin' star in the center ring. I wonder which of the little motherfuckers he was listening to just then. Could it have been my chemical sponsors? Or maybe it's just his own motherfuckin' busted thinkpan getting ready to play our game. Who knows? I'm just waiting and ready for more. Let me tell you a secret, brothers and sisters: …even I don't know where the motherfucker's going from here. All I can tell you is to stay tuned for the motherfuckin' second act, because I promise you it will be beautiful. I can't even tell you how motherfuckin' excited I am to watch that little motherfucker crawl. It's time to make him suffer.

Oh, yes, here they go on their way to fix it, as if this motherfuckin' carnival wasn't made in a house of mirrors to begin with. Sure, it's not like the Knight can't replace a motherfuckin' musical instrument. He's got all of the little motherfuckin' monkeys at his side, throwin' their livelihood at him for a chance to forget their own goddamn worries. The tamed Witch makes that motherfuckin' clear with a wad of cash and another motherfuckin' sorry. It's almost beautiful to watch, her thinkin' she can fix this with a shiny new piano and a hug.

No, brothers and sisters, we know the truth. We know how much more is gettin' broke tonight than just a motherfuckin' music maker. That motherfuckin' precious thread, that mirrors edge that holds the whole motherfuckin' fragile family together, is gone. From the whispers of my chemical brethren the Knight cut the string. It's all motherfuckin' unraveling now. Watch with me, brothers and sisters. Watch this foolish motherfucker dance his way straight into the depths, because only the mirthful messiahs know exactly how far he has yet to fall.

HoNk

honk

HONK :o)


	11. Strider, You're a Star

Notes from Mama Lobster: **This chapter takes more drugs than a touring funk band. **Dave gets intimately acquainted with the new solar system. If anyone was interested, the new planets are, in order: Zillyhoo, Sweet Moon and Hella Planet, New Alternia, Calmasis, Iron Lass, Stoli, Rainbow Dash, Skullduggery and Foxworthy.

Happy natural disaster day, children. Stay safe. Love you all.

Brooke Stardust has only this to say: (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻. All the thanks to her for proofreading this chapter.

Named for "Andy, You're a Star" by The Killers.

* * *

Strider, You're a Star

== Be Dave

Holy shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

The lights are out in the apartment, but you really don't care much. You feel way too good for shit like that to even be an issue. That Gamzee douche is a motherfuckin' messiah after all. He's been pushing this on you for years and you just didn't listen.

Why the fuck didn't you listen?

Your hand is in your hair, and you can't help but notice how fucking WONDERFUL it is. Fuck, you could orgasm on the feel of it alone. How could you have not noticed before?

It's because you were too chicken shit for this. Heroin was too _trashy_ for big shot Hollywood coolkid Dave Strider. What a fucking joke, this is amazing. The feel of your skin, the mellowness of the sepia light of the candles… the world is fucking perfect. It's not like cocaine alone, when you sometimes wake to a house destroyed and a wife gone.

No, this is what true peace feels like. Contentment boils in your stomach and the warmth envelops your body, squeezing you in some perfect cosmic hug. The universe lifts you, surrounds you, and carries you away. There is no time here, only space. Fuck do you love everything about space. The universe is your fucking sexy mistress and you only exist to please her.

Jade is space, and she is beautiful. She holds you here too, and goddamn do you love her for it, even if you can't see her face. She is the universe and she will heal your pain. You have known it since you laid eyes on her as a fucking dumb little kid in a fucking dumb little game. That girl is a saint; she's your Mother fucking Teresa.

The dope recedes and the coke takes its place. Speedballing, that's what Gamzee called it. The needle just looked a little too frightening, so you had to mix it and snort it and _this is the best fucking idea you've ever had_. You are invincible. Nothing can touch you up here on your playdate with the stars.

And then you remember how wonderful your hair feels again. How fucking amazing would Jade's hair feel right now? Soft and long and lightly tangled, and darker than the night sky in the apartment you can't see so well. You could wrap yourself in it and go to sleep if you didn't want to fuck so bad.

Then again, you are not sure if she is really here.

It's ok, you can pretend. The universe holds you tighter as you slowly slip your hand down your stomach.

== Be Jade

Always with the freaking lights. You filled out the form, you sent it in, and all Dave had to do was put the money in their account. Your meager paycheck is not enough to support his Hollywood lifestyle on it's own; it's not even enough to support the electric bill.

He's on the couch asleep. You hope he's asleep. Though checking to make sure he's still breathing has become part of the end of the day ritual, it's never one you can get used to. Your heart beats fast as you place a hand near his mouth.

He's so cold, and the panic that washes over you nearly stops your heart from beating. But there's breath. Breath and a pulse.

He's a mess. Disgusting, really. His shirt is crusted with sweat and powder, and his drool pools on the pillow beneath him. His hair is amass with dirt and cocaine, as well as something suspiciously sticky…

You could just go. You could run over to John's house and be done with this mess, let Dave wallow in self-destruction on his own. Why won't you?

You can't really think of a good answer to that.

You grab a washcloth in the hopes that it will make you feel less powerless. You are so very, very gentle as you wash his hands and face, removing the glasses that hide unfocused eyes. They're heavy lidded, and you can't help but notice how long his lashes look in the candlelight. His hair is matted, and so you brush it out. It's all you can do for him.

The gaunt lines of his face twitch. He might see you, you think. He's coming down.

"Jade?" his voice is weak, but he knows you're there. That's a good sign.

"Jade, I need more. Please."

The tears forming in your eyes are bitter and angry, not sad, and the desperation in his voice only serves to build your hysteria. No, you will not be his fucking middleman. You would kill him for being so dumb if you weren't so damn worried about him already. Stupid fuckass.

He looks so pathetic. You remember when he was tall and lithe and the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He had such broad shoulders and a tight, angular jaw, and a smirk that would sometimes crease his cheeks with dimples. His eyes, when you were lucky enough to see them, were wide and expressive and just a little sad. Dave Strider was nothing like this corpse, bony with stretched, waxy skin. His eyes are so sunken into his skull you wonder how he could possibly see anything at all.

You have to bite your lip to keep those bitter tears from spilling.

"Help me." He whispers it so quietly, and you really, really wish that you could.

Dave is shaking now and you know he is close to sober.

== Be Dave

It hurts. Oh fucking god it hurts as it slices through your neck and you just want another hit so badly your body is practically screaming for it and why won't Jade help you when she knows how much you're hurting?

_Obviously it's because you're a fuck up. You promised her the world, and you can't even keep the goddamn electricity going._

FUCK it needs to be in your system right the FUCK now where is it where is it where is it…

It isn't until you feel hands on your wrists that you realize how much pain you're in. You have been hitting yourself, maybe. Jade stops you, and the look on her face makes you hate yourself more.

"Dave, relax. You're just coming down is all. It's fine." Her voice is soothing. It's almost enough for you to forget. Her hair falls loosely around her face, dangling down to brush against your wrist. You remember how much you wanted to feel it only 22 minutes and 17 seconds earlier. It's still soft and thick like you remember, and you can briefly forget just how fucked up your life ended up being.

She's stronger than you remember. Either that or you're very light. You're not sure which is true as she scoops you up like a goddamn fairy princess and carries you to the bed. It's safe there, probably.

_Quest bed. A sword in your hands "I told you you wouldn't be able to face your own death." Terezi says. The text seems so clinical scrawled across your screen, like another challenge between friends. "Why not just be the one to put him down?"_

Jade holds you as you shake, and you grab another fistful of her hair. How very fucking lame of you. She whispers to you, and you are not sure whether the noise is bitter or comforting.

== Be Jade

Dave is coming back to you again. He likes it when you talk to him during flashbacks. Well, he did, anyway. It hasn't seemed to help very much recently.

He feels so small in your arms, and lighter than he used to be. His blood pumps under your fingertips, far faster than it should, and his breathing is quick and shallow. You hold him tighter.

Finally he relaxes, slumped into your arms. Funny how you never realized how tense you became until he is limp against you.

"Jade." His voice is still hoarse. Jesus fuck he better not ask you to get him a hit again, you swear you will be on John's couch before he can say "addiction."

Shake it off, Jade. Be strong.

He doesn't ask you for a hit, or for anything else; he just struggles to lift his head. His eyes meet yours, still gaunt, sad, and even pathetic. He's seeing you, though. He really sees your face. He knows you are there with him, and your heart beats a little faster.

He touches your face gently, and with that you are frozen. His fingers are thin and cold, but still his. This is Dave's hand, calloused, rough and strong. When things were good he'd joke with you before he touched your face like this. Afterward he would pull you into a kiss.

Is that where this is going? Dave's eyes are still searching you, as if he hasn't really seen you in years.

All your thoughts of Dave's weakness, his pathetic, frail frame, disappear as he collapses on you. His arms are like a vice behind your neck, nose pressed into your collarbone. Yeah, he's still pretty damn strong when he wants to be. Breathing is so much more difficult now, and you are not quite sure if it's the tightness of the grip or something else.

Dave doesn't cry as he holds you, burrowing his nose into your skin. The smell of his hair is overwhelming: liquor, salt, and smoke, but under it all is the spicy clove scent you love so much. Sometimes, when the days are good, you still ask him to let you take a nap on his chest. The smell just makes you feel so safe.

Your hands find their way up his spine to rest by his shoulders, and he shivers into the touch. His shoulders are broad as ever. You smile into his hair. "Soooo coooool." He just holds you tighter.

It's hours before you are both asleep, but you find you don't mind very much.


	12. Zombie

Zombie

_He's huddled in the corner, teeth grinding and eyes wide. _

"_Why the FUCK are you bleeding!?" He yells. He's breathing so fast. She needs to be careful when she approaches._

"_Dave… I'm not. I'm ok. You're ok."_

"_Fuckin… zombie bitch…" he mumbles, inching closer to her. She wraps her arms around him as he shakes._

"_We're ok. I promise you we're ok. Come back" she mumbles this into his hair. He grips her so tightly it hurts._

_The shaking never stops. Jade tries to touch him again later, but he doesn't react. She can see the white powder haloed around his nostril, and she weeps._

* * *

== Jade: come home

Jade enters the apartment quietly as ever. She's learned his triggers, and she knows how to best keep him calm and trusting as she enters a room. With a sideways glance, she tiptoes past the broken painting and into the living room, where grunting meets her ears.

There he is, strifing with shadows once again. There is no sword in his hands, but Jade knows he feels it there as he swings his arms wildly. Her breath is stuck in her chest, but her lips make a fine line of determination and she continues forward.

With a shout he collapses. _He's coming down_, Jade thinks, watching him fall to his knees and pant. In time, she can approach him.

The dinner in her hands is getting cold. Of course Dave won't have eaten yet, so she brought Lo Mein from his favorite restaurant, with a special surprise of apple juice hidden underneath. The smell will help bring him into the real world, she hopes. It's been a long, awful day, and she wants so badly to be able to curl up with him tonight.

She's tired. She misses the way things used to be.

Dave's chest is heaving, but he is calmer, she thinks. She knows enough not to scare him by sneaking up on him, so she places the food gingerly by his side. The bag is slightly open, and she knows the smell will reach him there for sure.

_TV's still on. _Jade dumps her purse unceremoniously onto the kitchen table, shaking her head in frustration. The TV always sets him off. He knows better than that. She eyes the counter for any sign of trouble. There's a cigarette butt and a few empty beer cans lying about, but nothing stronger.

_It could be worse,_ she laughs to herself. Suddenly she feels like crying.

Nope, no tears tonight. She has to be strong for him. He's gonna be ok, he's gonna go to sleep without any drugs or any problems, and he's gonna stay asleep all night. She's making this happen for him, and he'll know that if he can do it once, he can do it again. She called the rehab center earlier and has some plane tickets at the ready; all she needs to do is convince him to say yes.

Jade grins to herself as she unpacks Dave's gift from her bag. This was definitely never part of the game. There was nothing in Sburb at all that required a bound copy of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff that she made herself, or a green lace lingerie set.

Black was out of the question, though. She was going to play this close to the chest, which meant no black, no red shoes, and contacts instead of glasses tonight.

* * *

It's been an hour since she came home, and Dave's breathing has slowed considerably. He still hasn't spoken to her, though he did look up briefly through bleary eyes. Jade wonders if she should have just stuck with the book. Sex seems so horribly inappropriate when Dave is so unhappy.

_Don't doubt yourself_. She is determined once again. Tonight will be the best of nights, and by the end of it Dave will be really, truly, and unironically ready for this.

He is almost still now, with his breathing even and his shoulders slumped. Maybe now Jade can hold him and whisper into his hair until he remembers where he is. She resists her urge to worry, even though she is blinking a bit more often than she needs to.

_Can you really fix this?_

Jade bites her tongue, the pain snapping herself effectively out of her depression. Well, almost effectively. The knot welling in her stomach and the burning pressure in her eyes say otherwise, but she won't give in. She will help him, and she can't do that if she lets her own issues take over.

He will get better, she knows it. He is Dave Strider and he is the bravest, most amazing coolkid she has ever met. He just needs a little bit of help.

Jade is not quiet when she enters the room a second time. She needs to make her presence known if she doesn't want him to run.

"Dave?"

Dave doesn't answer. He doesn't move. Did he manage to sneak something while she wasn't looking? Is she already too late?

Jade circles around to see his face. She smells the alcohol on his breath, but his nose isn't red and his pupils look normal.

_I got this._ She thinks. _Drunk Dave I can work with._

"Dave, I got you a present."

Dave is not there. She needs to bring him back.

She reaches out to touch his face and is met with some of the most agonizing pain she has ever experienced.

* * *

== Dave: come home

Dave can't come home because he has no home to go to. He is in the Land of Frost and Frogs, and his sister is dead in front of him. The ivory white of her ribcage looks so clean against the mess, and he can't help but admire the surreal quality of the scene. Rose was talking to him only a few short seconds ago… but what he's looking at now could not ever have been his sister.

Noir is in front of him again, and he dodges quickly, his body working automatically while his mind fights through the numbness. John was only killed a few hours ago in the Land of Wind and Shade, and the way his body lay next to Bro's…

_He's got to pay._ Dave's rage against the beast builds once more.

Jade glows with a green aura, holding him steady for Dave to strike. Noir can't teleport to who-fucking-knows-where this time. Dave ducks behind her as Noir makes to swing for him. Noir would never hurt Jade.

Except when he would. Noir doesn't have time to register Jade's block, and soon she is both in front of and behind him. She didn't even have time to scream.

Noir looks defeated. His ears fold back as he whimpers.

_Dave?_

Dave and Noir are both on their knees. They can share a moment of grief before the fighting resumes. Dave knows he is going to die here, and the thought terrifies him. You would think he'd get used to Dead Daves by now.

Maybe future Dave would show up to save him. Maybe he can pretend this timeline isn't doomed and that he can go back and fix whatever time loop he might have broken. Maybe he can turn back time and fix things himself.

He is not so lucky.

_Dave I got you a present…_

Noir is on him again, but he is alert this time. In the blink of an eye Dave blocks, grabbing his arm and twisting it until it snaps. Noir staggers back, clutching at his mangled arm. It looks like Dave broke some fingers, too. Good.

Dave strikes while Noir is down. He's trying so hard to teleport, but the pain distracts him.

_Noir doesn't feel pain._

Dave lunges again; he has Noir on the defensive and there is no way he's letting up. He strikes once, twice, again and again, eventually breaking through his guard and landing a blow to his horrible, fanged face.

Noir is on the ground, and Dave is on him in seconds. The adrenaline in his veins gives him strength, and he barely has to think to keep fighting. Noir struggles, but he can't break free. Dave slams his head into the ground, and the struggling weakens.

Standing once again, Dave admires the beast that killed everyone he loved.

He isn't hurting enough yet.

Dave stomps into Noir's stomach four times, once for all of his murdered friends and family. He doesn't know when he started screaming, but oh god it feels so good to watch him writhe. Noir retches.

_Noir can't vomit._

Dave keeps screaming even as his brother's arms wrap around him. The beast still isn't hurting enough. Dave has died so many times over by now, and Noir needs to feel every single agonizing death. He doesn't know why Bro would ever want to deny him that pleasure.

Dave hears his brother shouting, and suddenly there's pain. He is dizzy, the blow to the head has him seeing stars. Lofaf is fading around him, and all he can see is Jade's body lying in pieces.

He screams again. She's fucking dead, and he killed her, and why the FLYING FUCK will Bro not let you fight back?

And then he was in his apartment again, struggling in Dirk's arms, hissing and spitting. Dirk's voice is higher than usual when he speaks next.

"Dave, do you know where you are?"

And then Dave is still.

== Dave: come home

_Jesus fuck no that can't have just happened…_

Something is wrong in their apartment. It's so quiet, and his Bro is shaking against him. His grip is tight and painful, and refuses to budge.

The TV is broken on the floor. Great, that thing cost him a month's salary. His hands are stinging; what the fuck did he hit this time?

Bro isn't holding him anymore.

_Wake up kid, fuck fuck fuck kid please open your eyes._

Dave blinks. The room is still spinning a little, and he feels the cold snow around his feet.

No.

Floor. Rug, probably. He's in the living room. It smells fucking terrible, like blood and vomit and sweat.

Bro is yelling at him again, and he wonders if Jade has come home yet. He misses the smell of her hair, and the safety of her embrace.

_Jade please_

Jade is there on the floor, broken and bleeding again. Dave shakes and falls to his knees. He knows it's only a memory, but the pain is still there.

Bro is at her side, checking on her pulse and cleaning up her face.

…Bro can see her too

oh god.

_**oh god.**_

== Dave: wake

There is blood everywhere. On his hands, his face, in his hair.

_It's all Jade_

Dave can't stand. He can barely kneel, and he sure as fuck can't breathe.

She is convulsing, struggling to take in air. Dirk tries to lift her, but she shrieks as more blood trickles down her face. She doesn't have the strength to hold her jaw closed.

As Dave watches, Bro gently turns her head to the side. A few teeth fall out of her mouth.

Dave is shaking, overwhelmed. He tries to whisper to her, but she doesn't respond. He doesn't even know if she can hear him. She's not there with him right now.

_So this is what she feels like all the time. _Dave laughs bitterly to himself. Then he remembers that Jade is not a monster like him.

He remembers, once more, the feel of Noir's ribs as they shattered beneath his foot, the sound of his screaming as his insides collapsed upon themselves. Except now it was Jade.

Dave dry heaves. There is nothing in his stomach to turn.

He wants to stand, wants to pace around the room and destroy everything that comes in his path. He wants to run to Jade and hold her and kiss everything better and tell her how sorry he is. He doesn't have the strength to do any of it, and the frustration builds until he is heaving his breath, forcing air in and out of his lungs as if he could control it into all of the violence he wanted to inflict upon himself.

Dirk stands and turns to face him, Jade cradled in his arms. Dave doesn't think he has ever seen his Bro look so disgusted in his life, and he fucking deserves that shame. Dirk doesn't say a word as he turns and takes Jade out the door.

* * *

== Dirk: come home

Dirk can't come home because he's been home all day. If you asked him, he would say he was waiting for Jade to bring home food he could mooch. Really, he wanted to make sure his kid wasn't about to kill himself.

By the time Dirk notices the noise downstairs he fears it might be too late. Jade was screaming for Dave to stop, but as he reaches the door to their apartment all he can hear is gurgling, incoherent whines. His stomach is sick as he busts open the door and rips his little brother off his wife.

Dave struggles in his arms, and but he merely grips tighter. Dave is fighting to get to her, to hurt her more. Where the fuck did he go so wrong is raising this kid? He thought Dave loved her, and he sure as fuck taught Dave not to violently assault the people he loved.

"NOIR" Dave finally spits something coherent.

Oh.

Dirk slaps Dave cleanly across the face. He doesn't have time for this. Jade looks like hell over there and Jesus fuck if she dies right there on their living room floor…

Her eyes are open and pleading with Dave. Betrayal. It's fucking heartbreaking, he swears. He wants her to know that Dave didn't mean it, but who knows what's true anymore?

"Dave, do you know where you are?" Dirk can barely hear his own voice.

Soon enough, Dave is still. Dirk drops him to run to Jade.

Jade can't fucking breathe, and that is a problem. She tries to cough, but her broken ribs will not allow it. She shakes and gasps, her body rejecting the damage done to it and refusing to function. On closer inspection, Dirk notices the broken teeth and bile threatening to choke her. He gently empties her mouth, and she starts to relax a little.

She is still looking at Dave through half-lidded eyes as the seizure begins.

Dave dry heaves again. Fucking useless.

Dirk cradles Jade's head, making sure she won't injure it any more as her body convulses. When she gasps he turns her head to the side, once again emptying her mouth. Blood spills over her lips and he hears Dave retch louder behind them.

She's calming down again, her limbs settling gently on the floor after the thrashing ceases. She is no longer conscious, and Dirk thinks that is for the best. He couldn't deal with that deer-in-motherfucking-violent-headlights stare of hers anymore.

Dirk takes her to the car, who the fuck knows why. All Dirk knows is that his nerves are shot to shit right now and he is failing pretty miserably at handling this situation.

* * *

Jade is safe. As safe as she can be, anyway. John has her; they're going to the hospital. Dirk can't do anything more for her. Besides, he has another life to be worrying about right now.

Dirk knows from the silence in the apartment that he was right to worry. Blood and vomit are dried and nasty in the carpet, mixing with spilled Lo Mein and a scattering of teeth. A strand of long black hair is tangled in the broken remains of a coffee table.

"Kid?" No answer.

Dirk has to do some exploring before he finds Dave in the tub, soaking in red water. His eyes are dull as he stares past a shiny bound copy of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, now partially submerged in bloody water.

Dirk forces the panic back down into his stomach as he notices that Dave is still breathing. After a long while, Dave finally blinks.

"Bro…"

And just like that Dirk is at his side, pulling him out of the freezing water and carrying him to the bed. The cuts on his wrist aren't as bad as Dave wanted them to be, Dirk knows. It's hard to tell just how deep you're supposed to be slicing when you're too high to feel the pain.

Dave turns his head into Dirk's neck and chokes out what Dirk thinks might be a sob.

"Kill me." The words are strangled, more of a whine than a request. Dirk doesn't know what to say, and so he only holds his little brother tighter.


	13. Running Up That Hill

Notes from Mama Lobster: I am so, so sorry.

* * *

Running Up That Hill

When John opens the door, his stomach falls. His first thought is of Dirk, sitting in the car across the street from them. He's watching, but says nothing. John doesn't know whether he should thank him or kill him.

His next thought is that this is the game, coming back to mock him. Lord English held her all this time only to spit her back out to him, mangled and bloody and dead. All his memories of Jade after 13 years old were a lie.

His third thought is that this isn't real at all, just some cruel trick of the universe. He begs with whatever deity might be looking after them that this is the case.

John's knees give way. It's not until Jade coughs that he snaps back to reality.

She's alive. There's something he can do now.

* * *

Jane Crocker is a wonderful woman, John thinks. The best Nanna and an even better babysitter. She doesn't argue or question when John calls her sobbing at 2 in the morning asking her to look after Casey.

Casey can't see this. John has to keep her away.

The waiting room is always dodgy at this time of night. Every hospital is full of the victims of drunken bar fights, terrible car accidents, or drug overdoses. Even so, Jade was let in first. That means she's the most serious.

John tries to ease the panic this realization causes, but his body will not comply. Adrenaline seeps through his veins and it is all he can do to sit still.

When she came in, the nurses marked her as a victim of assault. He asked how they knew, but they just threw around a bunch of technical terms about patterns of bruising and fractured bones. They might as well have been speaking through Eldritch tongues. Assault, though. That one John heard. He doesn't know whether he should feel angry or sick, so he settles on both.

* * *

Two hours in surgery. There are so many patients who have come and gone in that time. John can't help but envy them as he gets his third cup of coffee from the machine. It tastes like piss water, but it keeps him going.

The sky is lighter now. Nurses change shifts around him, and yet he still sits barefoot in his goofy pajamas and a sweatshirt.

He wishes he could call someone. Anyone. Rose should know, but he'll let her sleep for another few hours. Besides, what can he tell her? That he knows absolutely nothing?

He wants to call his best friend, but that's…

He doesn't know what that is. Just that he can't do it.

* * *

The police are here for an interview and oh god he doesn't know what to do. Jade is hurt. Jade is really badly hurt and he is sure he knows who did it, but he can't tell them that. His best friend would go to jail forever and, I mean, how does John really know that's what happened anyway? He doesn't. He doesn't know anything, and so he shouldn't say anything until he does.

He tries to tell himself that these aren't excuses.

Self-loathing rises as John feels the lie escape his lips, clenching his fists until his nails bite the skin. He lies for his best friend, his best friend who may or may not have just killed his sister.

If she dies, he will tell them. Otherwise she can make her own decision.

It's not an excuse, he thinks. It's not. It's a valid course of action.

The police close their little notebook and give the speech on how unlikely it is that they'll be able to find some random perpetrator, that without more evidence he shouldn't get his hopes up too much. John stares at them, unblinking.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky by the time John hears any news. Holy shit those doctors are covered in blood…

There is more technical nonsense that John doesn't understand. The surgeon spouts something about brain trauma and unresponsive reflexes and a loss of mobility.

But oh thank god she is alive.

He's not allowed to see her yet, the doctor says, and he doesn't know if he can handle it anyway. They keep using that word, "unresponsive." John doesn't like how ominous it sounds.

The doctors are gone, and a nurse is back with some breakfast for him. A thoughtful gesture, John thinks, even if it's all in wrappers from a vending machine. The nurse tells him that he has to go home now, since visiting hours are over and there is no one who he can visit anyway.

John looks to the light filtering in through the glass. It's morning now. Early, yes, but still late enough for his friends to be awake. With shaking hands he moves to dial a number.

In the next few hours, John proceeds to go through some of the worst phone calls of his life.

* * *

The hospital promised to call them when they had news on how serious the damage was, but they could be days away from knowing. From what Rose translated out of doctor-speak earlier, it sounded like Jade could be anywhere between totally fine and completely catatonic. John shivers and finds himself vaguely missing the piss water from the hospital. He doesn't own a coffee maker, and Rose and Kanaya hadn't brought any extra with them. Karkat just paces uselessly around the room behind them, shouting the occasional expletive.

"You need to sleep, John. You've done enough." Jane's fingers twine with his. The best not-Nanna ever, he thinks. He's so happy she is here.

She's right, of course, he desperately needs to sleep. Still, there is one more person he owes an explanation to.

As if on cue, an alarm goes off upstairs. John has been dreading the noise for a while.

"Daddy, where's my red shirt? I wanted to wear the red one today!" Casey shouts, and there is a thundering of small footsteps coming down the stairs.

Silence hits the room as Rose and John share a significant glance. John's heart is tight in his chest.

What do they do now?


	14. How to Disappear Completely

Notes from Mama Lobster: Named for the Radiohead song.

A quick shoutout to a guest... you bring up a really, really important point. It's just so common for people to be willfully ignorant of the danger in these situations... I can't tell you how many times I've seen obvious signs ignored by friends and family. It makes me seriously happy to think you were on her side. (And the cheap shots will keep coming. I don't think I've crossed every cliche off the list yet, but we're getting close.)

From Brooke Stardust: ┬──┬◡ﾉ(° -°ﾉ) She has left that table flipped for far too long. So many thanks to her for beta reading.

* * *

How to Disappear Completely

== Be Dave

5 days, 15 hours, 56 minutes and 24 seconds. That's how long it's been since you've seen Jade Harley. You don't even know if she's alive, and you don't think you have it in you to find out.

For 4 of those days you didn't use. You were done. Cleaner than a fucking toilet bowl on health inspection day. You didn't deserve the release, the euphoria of it all. You would have been sober and so much less of a danger to anyone, or the withdrawals would have killed you. Either way, the world would be a better place.

But you were weak. When the sweat and shaking and memory became too much to bear, you gave in. You did it to make the look of betrayal on her face go away.

The liquor burns on the way down. 151. It tastes like rubbing alcohol and it's exactly what you need. No pleasantries about it, just a vile fire in your throat and then nothing.

Bro tells you that you didn't mean it, like that somehow makes it better. Like thinking you're fighting off Noir in the snow while you're actually trying to murder your wife is a perfectly acceptable way to spend your time. Of course that doesn't count as domestic violence, officer, you thought she was a dog demon! Now everyone just pack up and go home, you're clearly a model citizen and the perfect husband.

You doubt that Bro really believes it either. He probably just doesn't want to clean up after your suicide. He can't even look you in the eye he's so fucking disgusted by you.

Another swig. You miss your mouth this time, spilling the liquor onto the filthy sheets below. Fuck, you can't afford to waste booze right now. It's not like you're in any state to get some more.

== Dave: do nothing

You are more than totally ok with that. 7 days, 23 hours, 5 minutes and 44 seconds.

The bloodstains and grime coating the sheets below you don't matter, as you will never change them. They still smell like Jade. On day 6, you woke up and thought she was there next to you. It was warm and comfortable with that smell like gardenias, and the way the light reflected off her little pixie nose was too adorable not to kiss. It's a shame Bro was there to wrestle the gun away from you when you remembered that she was gone.

After that, Bro took all the weapons upstairs. Every sword he owned, every rifle she kept locked away in case of emergencies was gone. Even the stupid kitchen set that you were so terrible at using was deemed a danger and removed. Now, when the memories hit, you are defenseless.

They hit fucking hard, too, and often. So much more often now that you are alone. Old ones, new ones, ones so terrible you're pretty sure your brain forced you to not remember them until now. Jade kept them at bay sometimes, and here and there you could forget how stupidly shitty the universe seemed to be. Now every fucking time you close your eyes you can only see her fucking seizure and shit it's in your head it's in your head shit shit shit make her stop looking at you like that is she even still alive?

One frantic drink and the memory washes away with a burn. Where the fuck did you leave your dope? You know damn well Dirk didn't flush it; asshole learned his lesson last time.

== Dave: cry and angst

As if you do anything else with your time now. It's almost like you believe you could still function as a human being if you wanted to.

10 days, 19 hours, 33 minutes and 6 seconds, but at least you know she is alive. There's a mumble from the living room. Bro left the TV on, and he must have forgotten to turn the volume down. Even through the headphones you can hear the dramatic overtures of whatever new Shounen anime he's into. Ever since he's set up camp in the living room he's been flooding your whole damn place with turntables, smuppets, and ridiculously creepy hentai.

He keeps insisting you leave the apartment with him, if only to go for food. Why he wants to be seen in public with a phlegm-gargling nutsack like you is beyond your imagination. He keeps talking about the importance of routine and some other psycho-babble. More than likely he's been talking to Rose, you know he could usually care less about that emotional shit.

He's gone now, though, and he refuses to take you with him this time.

_Asshole. _You chuck a pillow across the room at the thought.

You know that's not fair. He won't take you with him because you can't go. It would just be fucking wrong. You don't deserve to be near her and it's completely cruel and unfair of you to want to go with him.

Then again…

Since when have you given a rat's ass about fairness? Since when has the _universe_ given a rat's ass about fairness? This whole situation is fucked to shit anyway and there's nothing you can do that would really make it worse. Rock bottom's a buddy of yours now, and you may as well spend some more time bonding.

== Dave: get up

10 days, 20 hours, 8 minutes and 20 seconds. It takes you a little while to get your ass in gear.

Coke is too much for this; you're not stupid enough to think otherwise. You don't have the option of fucking this up, and on coke that's all you do.

Dope it is, then. You'd also be stupid to think you could handle this without any chemical help at all. You can't handle lying in your goddamn plushy-soft bed without chemical help, let alone looking at the girl whose life you destroyed.

The door out of the apartment looks a lot more threatening than it used to. Maybe it's just because you haven't touched it in so long, or maybe it was the last barrier between you and the real world. Who the fuck knows. Rose is better at figuring this shit out than you are.

Your stomach settles and your mind is made up. The handle turns easily enough, and you are gone.


	15. Ocean Breathes Salty

Notes from Mama Lobster: Oh my god you guys I love you all so much. Seriously. Part of me thought I would get flamed out of existence for writing something like this... thank you thank you thank you. Never stop writing long reviews, we want to hear from all of you.

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Ocean Breathes Salty

== Be Jade

You don't really want to be Jade right now. She is not entirely conscious or competent.

== Be John

Being John is not much better than being Jade, but you will try.

It's been three days since you were first allowed visitation rights, but your mind has not quite returned to you. With every moment you stare at your sister, you are less and less sure that what you are seeing is real. Jade looks more like a broken doll than a woman, and even though you can see how all the pieces are supposed to fit together they seem as if they will not quite create her again.

You wonder idly if this is really all she boils down to, just a pile of assorted flesh and bones that will occasionally arrange themselves in the right order to be Jade Harley.

Casey is here for the first time. She was safer at home with Jane, away from this mess and away from this corpse that looks like her aunt. But Casey has never been patient, and she refused to stay away from her parents or Jade for too long.

She looks terrified, though. This is not something she should be seeing. What a terrible father you are.

Oh, you must have said that part aloud. Casey looks at you sadly, and Rose has her hand on your shoulder and tells you that you are a wonderful parent.

_Hah. She's just saying that because she feels guilty for being an absent mother._

Oh my god, you can't believe you just thought something so mean. Rose is a great mother, and she's brought Casey so much happiness with her frequent tales of adventure. The stress has just worn you down too much, you're incapable of functioning at this point.

You are not just a bad father, you are a bad friend.

_The worst friendleader the world has ever seen_ you think as you stare at Jade. Jade stares back at you and blinks slowly; her mangled fingers twitch towards you before settling. At the very, very least, you hope she knows you're there.

== Be Rose

Being Rose brings with it a strange detachment from the situation. You have been away for a long time, and you have not been so patient as to visit with Dave while you are home. You have been lucky enough not to see how he has regressed into this… thing he has become.

A sick fascination with your friend's psyche overwhelms you, and you fail miserably at resisting the urge to look at him analytically. You think back to those times in college, discussing PTSD as if it was something abnormal, something not everyone has to experience. All four of you were intimately familiar with every symptom discussed, and you were almost shocked to consider that what you once thought was just a fact of life is, in fact, a mental disorder.

Of course you were the first to recognize the signs. You sought treatment and got better. Jade and John were natural optimists and resilient. They bounced back in time.

But Dave, who had seen so much more than any of them…

You look at Jade; her hand is twitching against the IV. You adjust it for her gently, and the jerky, spastic motions stop. Jade doesn't even blink at your touch.

Your chest is hurting again, but you have no tears left to cry.

== Be Casey

This place is awful and it smells bad. You came because you heard Mommy was here, but Mommy hasn't said much to you since you've seen her. She's holding Kana-mommy's hand and looking all scared like everyone else, and that's not how mommy is supposed to be.

Aunt Jade sleeps with her eyes open now. That's what Daddy told you, anyway. You wonder how she got to be so different. When she stayed with you, she was the loudest sleeper ever. She would mumble and laugh and move like she was running, and lately she would cry a lot. But she never held still like this, and you never saw her eyes when she slept.

Her eyes are kind of scary. You're pretty sure they don't see.

== Be Dirk

You lean against the door, arms folded against your chest. Today is the first day you've gotten to spend with Jade, and you really wish you'd decided to be anywhere else in the world.

You're pretty used to keeping your mouth shut, but no matter how hard you try to blend in to the white walls behind you, you still feel like you're out of place. This shit is private, intimate maybe, and you sure as fuck feel like the fifth wheel. You don't belong here; you are the one who could have stopped this sooner and you have no right to sit here with all these people who loved her and took care of her.

Not that she don't mean anything to you, even trying to pretend that she doesn't would be a waste of time. Girl's a fucking sweetheart, and the house has been so stupidly miserable without her. You'd kind of forgotten what it was like to live on chips and peanut butter since she came around, but having her gone has been a pretty fucking decent reminder.

She's just a kid, but she's still taken better care of Dave than you ever did.

Dave.

He hasn't called since you left, and you're not sure you feel right about leaving him alone. At the same time, that kid's face makes you kind of sick right now, and there ain't anyone else willing to deal with his bullshit. You love that boy, but fuck you if you aren't close to hating him right now.

Jade needs you right now, too. Well, no, she probably doesn't, she has better people to take care of her now. Maybe you need her more than you thought. At the very least, you really need her to snap the fuck out of this. The last noise she made was in your arms as she spazzed right the fuck out on the apartment floor, and you don't think you can live with yourself if that's the last noise she ever makes. Hell, you don't think you could live with Dave.

Not that she'd die, no. The doctors are sure she's stable, and you know that if she survived that damn game she was probably near invincible. It's the brain hemorrhage or possibly the emotional shock keeping her quiet. The doctors have no idea which, useless bastards.

John mumbles something about being a bad father. What a fucking load of shit that is. You wish you had someone like John around to show you what was what.

Jade's green eyes are bright against her ashy skin, highlighted in black and gold. Rose insists on doing her makeup every morning so she can feel prettier when she looks in the mirror. She can't fucking see a mirror, so it's probably a waste of time, but if it makes Rose feel better more power to her.

A knock on the door; the nurses are here for her. Maybe today they'll know if it's physical or emotional damage keeping Jade like a fucking corpse in a pre-emptive funeral.

You open the door behind you, and if this is your nurse, the universe has one fucking sick sense of humor.

== Be Casey

Oh good oh good oh this is so great Uncle Dave is here! Aunt Jade is always so much happier when he is around. You know he came here to make everything better in this really scary place.

Uncle Dave is the best, and he will give her a hug and a kiss and then we can all go home. Mommy and Kana-Mommy will be there too, and maybe Jane will make a cake.

== Be Dirk

Oh FUCK no. Oh FUCK YOU get out of here why the fuck would you think it is ok to be here right now.

== Be Dave

Dirk is doing his best to block you from the room. His presence is threatening as he stares up at you. Never mind that you stand nearly four inches taller, Dirk is the one in control and you'd be stupid to think otherwise.

You can see past him. Rose is home. She looks good, even with her bleary, tired eyes fixed on you. If looks could kill, you'd probably be a zombie twice over by now.

John won't look at you. John won't look up at all. He's slumped over the bed and his face is hidden from your view. Casey is up on her tiptoes, trying to see you over her father's shoulders.

And there's Jade.

She doesn't react, and it's probably because she can't see. Not just because her left eye is nearly swollen shut (though that's pretty fucking terrible by itself), but because her head is lolling on her shoulders and her eyes don't blink like they should. God fucking damn it why did you think you could handle this?

It's been quiet for too long. You're supposed to say something now, or whatever is normal social protocol for this bullshit. You wish Jade would say hello. Maybe you'd rather she said she hated you and she never wanted to see you again. As long as you knew there was still a person somewhere in that bed.

Casey is the first one to speak. "Move, Daddy! I want to see Uncle Dave."

John looks up, finally. He's not angry. He pleads with you silently, choked breath and tear-streaked eyes begging to know why this happened. He wants to know when his best friend turned into such a shitty human being, and holy hell do you wish you could answer. You kind of wish you could just drop dead right there on the cheap linoleum. Casey scrambles around the room, but she still can't get past Dirk's leg.

That man is a wall.

It's been quiet for too long again. Rose is the one to bite the bullet. "I think you need to leave."

Her words take a moment to sink in, but oh god, they do, and the fucking delayed reaction they set off is more than you can deal with, panic prickling up from your stomach and creeping into your mind. Suddenly you want to scream and cry and force your way into the room, to lie down next to her and hold her gently until she wakes up. You need her to know how sorry you are, that you failed her, that you don't know how you're supposed to ever keep going while she's like this. You love her so much, you just want her to wake up and come home and none of this fucking nonsense to have ever happened.

There's the dizziness. You shot up twice before you came, but it's not enough. You can still feel how much your chest hurts, and your body is itching for more.

Bro steps closer again. He is only inches away from you now, and whispers just loud enough for you to hear.

"Get out."

He knows you're high. Does he know? It's not your fault; you can't handle the situation without it. You can't live with yourself, knowing how fucking vile you are, without some help. You'd die without it, and Bro's made it pretty clear he wants you alive.

You're doing the best you can. You just wanted to see her.

It's a little firmer this time. "Get out."

You have to actively remember to breathe, and it's only when you turn to leave that you realize how much closer the nurses' desk is than you thought. You collapse against it, struggling to remain upright as the urge to cry and scream and puke suppresses itself against your own numbness.

== Be Casey

Uncle Dave is leaving without even saying hello to you. He looks so weird; his face is all scrunched up and choked, kind of like yours when you really want to yell. Why is no one else happy to see him?

No one is going to tell you what's going on. Dave is gone and you don't think Jade is really sleeping. You think these people are a bunch of liars, and you are too smart to deal with this. Dave will tell you the truth, because he's better than any of them.

Dirk is big, and you are little. You can slip past him and into the hallway before anyone even notices you've gone.

== Be Dave

The little footsteps follow you through the hall. They're fast, and not loud enough to be an adult's. Casey's face is buried in your leg before you have time to fully turn around.

"Tell me what's wrong with Aunt Jade!" She shouts it into your thigh, slamming a tiny fist into your waist. The force of it isn't much, but your head is spinning and you're not sure if she's going to knock you over.

Louder footsteps follow her. She repeats the statement, louder. You don't know what to do, so you reach down to pet her hair. A hand slaps you away.

Before you know what even just happened Dirk is pulling her off you, and she is screaming. She is screaming with those little kid wails that you haven't heard her make since she was a baby. You vaguely hear the words "Jade" and "dying" and "truth", but mostly it is an incomprehensible mess. You are still reaching for her, but Dirk knocks you away again.

She thrashes in his arms and looks at you through teary eyes. She demands to know why you don't visit her and John anymore and why Jade has to stay here now.

There is a buzzing rising in your head. Your heart is stuck in your chest and you can't help but wonder how the fuck the goddamn people police haven't murdered you for being such a despicable human being yet. Casey shrieks again, and you notice that you have been scratching your wrist to the point of bleeding.

Your head is pounding and you notice that Dirk is taller than you now. You're on your knees. When did that happen?

He's looking down at you as if you were some vile stain on his shoes, patting Casey's back as her screams turn to sobs. You don't know if you've ever seen Dirk look so intense.

His lips tighten, as if he wants to speak but can't. You stay locked in eye contact for 3.4 seconds.

Slowly, silently, he carries Casey back into Jade's room. Her screams grow more distant, muffled quickly by the hospital door. It's not until security drags you out that you become aware of how far from home and alone you really are.


	16. Float

Notes from Mama Lobster: loooooovvveeeee yoooooouuuu alllllll. This chapter is a doozie, with many writes and re-writes being done over the past few months. Apologies if my medical terminology is off. Thanks to Brooke for beta reading.

Named for Broken Bells.

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Float

== Be Kanaya

Being you is probably easier than being anyone else in the room right now. John's asleep in a chair nearby, and Jade is still in a bit of an unfortunate state. Well, that's a rather extreme understatement. Rose has gone for some air and perhaps a drink, and you really can't blame her. This whole ordeal has taken more of a toll on her than she would ever want to admit.

You've been here and there through the mess, helping where you can, but this isn't a situation well suited for your meddling. The most you can hope to offer is support for Rose and John, and a voice of reason for the rest. Mostly you deal with practicalities, dishing out issues with the insurance companies and talking to doctors about the steps to be taken in Jade's near future.

The doctor's advice has you feeling rather bleak, to be honest. Human anatomy is somewhat more fragile than a troll's, and the medical sciences have yet to make adjustments necessary to facilitate the needs of both species. Still, Jade's mental function appears to have improved, though she has yet to "awaken," so to speak. In addition she will need extensive surgery to restore her body to perfect working order, adding a hip replacement and corrective surgery for her jaw to the already completed removal of her rib from her lung. In addition, the doctors claim the damage to her reproductive system will make it unlikely that she will ever be able to procreate.

Sure, it's easier for you than most to remain pragmatic at a time like this. This fact does not make you heartless. The poor girl will have a lot to deal with if she ever snaps out of this state. Goodness, the way she's looking at you with those eyes is nearly enough to halt your own blood beating.

And when she speaks, you are suddenly so relieved that you are the only one present to hear it.

"Dave?"

== Be Jade

The light in the room is soft and warm, and you are thankful for it since your eyes don't seem to be functioning very well. There have been so many voices and lights, and you have these memories but you know they can't have actually been something that happened. This is just a nightmare, and you'll wake up soon.

The silhouette next to you is tall and proud, holding your hand so gently and in such a concerned manner.

Dave?

No, you quickly realize the silhouette is the soft, warm light. Kanaya. Kanaya's here. Rose must be here somewhere, too. The light is brighter now, moving closer, and you have to flinch away.

"Jade? Jade, are you all right?"

Her hand is cool and welcome against your forehead, even if the soft glow it emanates is giving you a little bit of a headache. There's a strange tenderness above your left eye that she is very careful not to touch, and a hole by your tongue where you think your teeth should be.

"Kanaya…"

"Yes, Jade. What can I get you?"

It's so hard to focus, and your thoughts keep swimming through a haze of cloudy vision and sudden bursts of aching. Kanaya seems to know, and presses something cold and wet against your lips. Ice. God, it feels wonderful, and you drink from it with as much force as you can muster. It turns out that isn't a whole lot. Your tongue isn't quite willing to help swallow, and your jaw is sore and offset by missing bones.

The liquid seems to be helping your headache some, and your vision clears slightly. The room fades into focus, Kanaya's skin gently illuminating the sterile white walls and blue curtains. This is a hospital.

Your head hurts again as you try to gather your thoughts. There's a reason you're in a hospital, and you think you know what it is, but believing it is a whole different story.

Kanaya's still helping, brushing your hair out of your face, and adjusting your pillows. She always was so fussy. Still she's abnormally quiet, considering the situation.

What exactly is the situation? It really can't be what you think it is, because what you think is terrible and scary and generally not possible at all. It couldn't have happened. Not the way you think it did, anyway. Dave would never, ever, ever look at you like that, twist your arm like that, throw you on the ground while you begged him to stop…

"Where's Dave?" Kanaya looks torn, continuing to fluff the pillows in silence. You try to swallow and the movement hurts far more than it should. "Where's Dave?"

Kanaya's fangs peek out over her lip, biting the tip of her tongue, making you even more aware of the fact that you can't do the same. She's looking so serious and that's really not helping at all. Where did your husband go?

"I need to talk to Dave. Kanaya, please help me find him."

The hands on your face are no longer gentle, pressing into an ache by your eye and by your jaw, why is she holding so tight, you need to sit up to stop her but you can't.

"Help me get up. Kanaya, help me get up, please help me find him you have to help me…" you can hear your voice growing louder, a whistling lisp sounding through the gap in your teeth. In the fog it's hard to tell if you're actually yelling or if your hearing is improving. Your hand won't function quite right, it hurts so badly to try to lean on it but that can't be a thing that actually happened, it just can't, the universe isn't so fucked up as to allow this sort of thing to have actually happened to you.

Your voice is louder still, but no one listens. There's another figure moving now. This one is shadowed, with pale skin and dark hair. A man with glasses, dark circles under red eyes. John.

"John, John, tell me what's going on, why does it hurt so much and why can't I move please tell me what's happening, tell me what's happening, please, please, _please."_

They hear you, but they don't speak, and their silence is as good as a condemnation. It's true, it's all true, and the reason you hurt is not in the room with you, it's why you can't breathe. Your vision is blurry again and the tears sting violently in your left eye, John is crying with you, you can hear it, and still you just can't stop. His arms wrap around you and you wish you could hold him back, but nothing will move.

== Be John

Your sister is awake, and you couldn't be more confused on how the hell you're supposed to feel about it. It's so good to see her function again, it really is. The flood of relief, the surrealism of watching her blink and see and speak and move, it's as if you've been released from the jaws of death themselves. She's alive, really alive, for the first time in weeks, and you are so, so happy.

But the way she looked just now… you don't think you've ever seen her so unhappy. And what can you do about it? The things she's saying, you have no idea if they're true or not. Even she doesn't know what really happened, how are you supposed to answer?

But for now, she's alive. The rest can come with time, you hope. Who knows, really? You're functioning on less than three hours of sleep for the past two days, the most you can process is that Jade is awake and you are glad to see her.

== Be Jade

It takes another few hours of sleep before you can be Jade again. Being upset is exhausting, you've found.

When you wake, Rose is there as well. She looks almost as worn as John, though John's bloodshot eyes will be hard to forget in the times to come.

There is a name, a subject, which everyone in the room avoids. You're really terribly aware of it, and you're sure they must be too. You can see it from the way they shift uncomfortably. Rose washes your hair for you; it's gotten tangled in the weeks of disuse, and there is still blood matted in the ends. You try to brush it yourself, but your fingers don't seem to want to close around the handle on their own.

It's strange, feeling so helpless. You can't run at all, you can hardly walk without help, you can't even hold a pencil to take notes on your reading. John, Rose, and Kanaya stay the whole day with you, helping you when you need it and keeping you entertained when you don't. For a little while you can forget, and just enjoy their presence and how happy they are to see you.

It's late when the doctor stops by, holding his clipboard with an uncaring look on his face. Kanaya draws him into the hallway, and you can hear them talking heatedly. She returns to the room alone, a forlorn look on her face.

"The good news is that you can go home soon, Jade. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow morning." The look on her face doesn't match the news she has given. "However, the doctor has insisted on a few months of physical therapy and constant updates as to your condition. And, well…" Kanaya straightens her skirt in one fluid movement. "Your condition is less than ideal."

At the risk of sounding sarcastic, there is only one response you can think of.

"Um, duh?" You quip. Rose laughs, quickly covering it with a snort behind her hand. Kanaya glowers in her general direction before returning to the business at hand.

"It's more serious than you might realize. You will need at least one more surgery to correct your hip, and of course your teeth will need replacing in the near future." Ok, well, that sucks, but it could be so much worse. John's fingers are interlacing with your good ones, and you get a sudden, gripping feeling that Kanaya isn't done talking.

"Jade… during the involvement there was some pretty heavy damage to your pelvic bone. The shatter, well… Jade, it… it's realistically not very likely that you will be able to have children in your future."

Well.

That… that wasn't what you expected.

"So… never? They can't just fix it?" John's fingers tighten around your palm.

"No. There was an artery severed at the time of your admission, and in the time it took to repair the surgeon missed the window to rebuild. You would have died if they had made any other decision."

Her words are like a blow to your stomach; the air is forced out of your lungs and suddenly the room is spinning. John is calling your name while Rose rubs your shoulder gently, but still you are someplace else. No, you didn't want to be a mom right now… but not right now and never are two very different things. There will never be any blond haired, green-eyed children running around to play with Casey at family gatherings. Never. Your family will always just be two.

And then you realize, once again, the state the other half of your family left you in.

A family of one, then.

== Be Rose

Jade's despondency is a truly remarkable thing, you have to note with morbid fascination. She is usually so transparent; her mind shutting down in this fashion could only be the result of a fairly intense defense mechanism in play. It's fortunate for everyone, most of all for Jade. The poor girl has endured enough, and her mind seems to agree.

She plays Munchkin with the best of them, though, and is well on her way to winning the third game in a row. Perhaps that's just because John is being kind to her, but really, she doesn't seem to notice. Her mind is elsewhere.

If only you could have traded. This news would not have been a blow for someone like you. You like to travel, to explore the world and experience life with the most exotic tastes. You love your girlfriend, and your practice, and though you love Casey it was never meant to be. Jade, though, with her warm, open heart… she's a perfect fit. If only Casey could have been her daughter, and you could have been the one receiving such awful news in a hospital bed. The universe is really rather sick sometimes.

Jade folds her cards quietly, seemingly distracted. John is the first to jump to attention.

"Jade? Did you want to do something else?" Jade's tongue is working through the gap in her teeth.

"I-" You feel your heart leap into your throat briefly. Is this the breakdown she's put off for so long? You reach for her shoulder, hoping to give her the strength to continue.

"…do you think Jake might want to come by and play, too?" her shoulders are shaking under your touch, and you rub her gently. Her request is simple, and Kanaya is the first to acquiesce. With a curt nod and a significant glance to you, she pulls out her phone.

== Jade: view Jake

He's grown quite a bit in the years since she's seen him, taller than John, certainly, and stocky to John's lean. The similarity is forever striking, though, right down to the square-framed glasses. His handsome features are marred by surprise and shock when he enters.

"Jade! By god, if I had known I would have been here so much faster! There had to be a transportalizer closer to us…" He's at her side in an instant, leaving Dirk to wander in behind him.

Dirk. Well, young Dirk. He's a strange sight here, sixteen years younger than his counterpart and covered in silver piercings. He hovers behind Jake, a reminder of just how unique and bizarre this universe has become.

Jake is looking at her like he doesn't know what to do with himself. She looks like hell, even with the bruises half healed, and when she smiles to reveal her gap teeth his expression becomes pained.

"Blimey, are you all right?" He looks as if he wants to touch her, but isn't quite sure how to go about doing so. She takes the initiative, brushing his fingers with her own damaged ones.

"I'm okay. I just… well, I wanted to say hi. It's been a while." He takes her hand with a little too much enthusiasm, releasing it quickly when she winces in pain.

"Damnit I'm such a goof sometimes, I'm so sorry, Jade! Can you at least tell me what happened? Can I do anything?"

She looks like she's about to cry. "No. No, I'm just really glad you came. You look good." She eyes Dirk's hand on Jake's shoulder. "Really good."

Jake's as oblivious as ever. "Oh, we're cracking, thanks! New Alternia's been good to us, though we're still having some trouble finding an apartment that isn't absolute rubbish. But really, is there anything you'd need? I don't feel quite right blathering on while you're hurt like this."

Jade brushes his fingers again, and he takes them more gently this time. "I'm okay. Well, I'm going to be, at least. Just tell me more about what the two of you have been up to."

Jake rambles on into stories of his and Dirk's adventures in the big city, Dirk's brief venture into the New Alternian political circle and their eventual decision that starting a dojo was a more appropriate venture. They're in the middle of an adoption process, taking home a little boy named Adam who is too shy for his own good. Dirk smirks gently, almost imperceptibly as Jake leans into his touch without even noticing. Jade's smile is genuine but a little sad. Eventually, Jake tries to turn the conversation back onto Jade.

"Now really, I'm glad we have this chance to catch up, it's been eons too long, but I must know what on earth happened?! You're a right mess, no offense."

She doesn't say much, just keeps smiling that mild smile. Dirk shifts, pulling up a chair by her bedside.

"Where's that boy toy of yours?" Weird. Now that he's aged even his voice sounds just like her brother-in-law's. She's not sure she can handle explaining the situation to Dirk's clone, and the dark, knowing look in his eye means she might not have to. She waits, unsure of how to proceed, and with every second that passes his brows knit further. Dirk is far from oblivious to matters of the heart, but he's kind enough not to make her say it.

Jake, however, is completely unaware that anything might be happening.

"Right good question! Last I heard you and your fella were doing well for yourselves out here. I thought he'd be outside with the others."

Just like that Dirk is up, his chair overturned on the other side of the room. Jade flinches, fear creeping up her spine and a slight whimper escaping her lips.

"Dirk, what the hell has gotten into you!?" Jake reaches for his hand, but Dirk recoils.

"Sorry. I need to cool off. You two catch up nice, ok? I'll be back for you later." He plants a gentle, apologetic kiss on Jake's temple before turning back to Jade.

"Look, if you need anything worked out, or if you need a place to stay, you can call us." Dirk's stare is intense, and Jade isn't sure she would be willing to release his wrath on anyone. She's grateful anyway, and he nods at her as he walks out the door.

"Jake." her voice is quiet as she contemplates the name. She likes it, she's decided. It's one she would pick if she had the choice. "Could you tell me a little bit more about yourself?"

"Is now really the time?" He seems taken aback. "I mean, with you all dinged up I feel like we should be-"

"It'll help. Just trust me."

Jake looks unsure, but he talks anyway. Jade listens eagerly, easing him on until he talks fluidly and with enthusiasm. He talks about the adventures he had on his version of their island, where lusii roamed free and violent scrapes were around every corner. There was no Bec for Jake English, the only guardian he had ever known had been his grandmother.

According to Jake, his grandma was the biggest badass in the world. She single-handedly protected him from the hand of the evil corporation she had been raised by, all while raising a rebellious flag and bringing up a child on her own. She taught him how to hunt, how to shoot, how to survive on his own in an unfriendly world and still keep hope for the future. Jake smiles wistfully as he remembers the lullaby she used to sing to him, a song Jade quickly recognizes as "How Do I Live." She smiles and hums along, and the two finish the song together.

Jake keeps talking, oblivious to Jade's rapidly fading consciousness. He reminisces about his life on the island, how in the end it really wasn't so different after all from life in New Alternia or pre-scratch Earth. There were plants and trees and buildings and governments, new technology and ruins, and families functioned the same way they do now. Jade sighs contentedly once more, with Jake rambling on about his grandmother's favorite lusus. It's not until he resumes his off-key rendition of his grandma's favorite lullaby that Jade can finally drift into sleep.


	17. MY IMMORTAL

Notes from Mama Lobster: Oh my god this is a thing that's actually happening.

This chapter is possibly the greatest contribution to human culture that Brooke Stardust has ever made. Her writing is flawless and spectacular.

Thanks to Tonnerre, DynoMyte, our mysterious guest, and everyone else reading!

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Trigger warnings: Lusus abuse, wriggler abuse, serious addiction, sex, body modification, liberal media conspiracy, constipation and the preventing thereof, aging, horde vs alliance turmoil, Jake English, youth rebellion, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

== [intermission] Jake: Meet the fella

"STRIDER!" you throw your arms up in the air sometimes. Dave looks at you like you have three heads.

Clearly, he does not understand the beauty of your Sea Cucumber Suit.

"STRIDER! WHERE, WHERE IS SHE?" you're yelling again. It calls her attention, and she scuttles out from the living room. Relief graces your features, until you notice a suspicious lack of something long and sturdy.

"MOTHER STRIDER! Where is your cane? You know how I worry about your knees!" The lusus hangs her lobstery head in shame. She never tries to disappoint, but sometimes she lets her adventurousness get the better of her.

She has good days, you know this as well as anyone, but even the most prime of condition geriatric lobsters need to watch out for their joints.

She snaps her claws at you and you know that she means business.

== [intermission] Mother Strider: Rebel

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You cannot properly be Mother Strider as lobsters have a hard time typing on computers.

== [intermission] Dave: HAVE AN ADDICTION

FOR THE HORDE!

You know that you could be doing something productive right now, like cocaine. But no. Your life has amounted to this newfound development and fascination.

YOU ARE THE COW OX BEAR THING.

ITS YOU.

Jade tries to come bring you to bed. She is wearing the most boobalicious of outfits. YOU DO NOT CARE. YOUR CLAN NEEDS YOU.

"BACK OFF DARK ELF!" you yell.

"STRIDER!" yells Jake English.

Jade leaves to go chew on things with her teeth. You raid a cave thing. All is well.

== [intermission] Jade: Be wooed

Dirk Strider is presenting you with the most beautiful penis you have ever seen in your life. It is as though it has been crafted from the finest of metal foundries.

In reality, it is not very beautiful but instead is really awkward and bizarre looking with several metal protrusions, but you do not want to offend him as he appears very proud of it.

You poke it a bit and it buzzes appreciatively.

Well then.

== [intermission] Dirk: Read the New Alternia New York Times

You've got to catch up on the daily happenings of earth. Jade is getting acquainted with the little man and you don't think it would be right to get involved. They're getting along swimmingly.

The editorials leave you with a sick sense of disappointment. The republicans have started banding together more than you would like to see in your usually decently liberal news source. "Alan M" has written a particularly upsetting letter to the editor that you are just not having. Were this your paper, you'd be reading this man the riot act until his ears fell off. You turn the page in a huff and immerse yourself in the weekly circulars.

You notice that there is a sale on probiotic yogurt happening this week at Stop and Shop. You cut the coupons to save a few dollars.

Gotta stay thrifty in these hard times.

Mom would be so proud.

== [intermission] MOTHER STRIDER : Be proud

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== [intermission] Jade: finish

That was the best sex you have ever had.

Mother Strider comes in after you are clothed and holds your hand gently in her crusher claw. Her pincer claw gently strokes over the top of your hand.

In this moment, you swear we were infinite.

Her mouth parts wiggle a bit. You feel loved.

FIN.


	18. To Death We'll Be Wed

Notes from Mama Lobster: 2 for 1 special today, guys. Named for "Soon We'll Be Dead" by Leftover Crack & World/Inferno.

* * *

To Death We'll Be Wed

== Time: pass

It will. The universe keeps turning no matter what. Days turn into weeks turn into over a month, and still Jade can't go home.

She's been making do at John's house with a toothbrush and some borrowed clothes, but it hasn't been easy. She misses her gardening tools and her special hairbrush, and that adorable pawprint poster Bec made for her when she was a kid.

It's not like she can go back and get them, though. Jade shudders a bit.

Of course John notices. She didn't really want him to, but she's not good at hiding these things. He says nothing, and she is so completely, unequivocally grateful for this fact.

Little Casey. She is so jealous of Jade and her father all snuggled up on the couch that she forces her way in. She has to be in the middle, she has to make them love her. They're always so busy looking sad that they don't even ask how her day was anymore.

She starts telling them anyway. John is so proud of her new, neatly organized folder full of alphabet drawings and basic math while Jade is still far away.

In another universe, they could have been the most normal, happiest family.

Jade hopes that someday this will be the case. One day she'll wake up and her fingers won't hurt anymore. She'll be able to hold a pencil again. She could come down the stairs and smell breakfast and scoop Casey up into a big hug, wishing her the best day at school and promising a playdate when she gets home. She would keep that promise. Kind, sweet future Jade always keeps her promises.

_Promise to love him, in sickness and in health…_

No no no. Jade does still love him and she has no reason to feel guilty. She's scared to go home and she has every right to be. She isn't safe there.

The guilt creeps in anyway.

Future Jade wouldn't be guilty. She would be so happy with Casey as a surrogate daughter, living with her oldest friend and spending nights arguing over terrible movies. Casey would grow older and they could celebrate birthdays together; the girl needs a female presence in her life. Jade could teach her how to hold a rifle, how to rock climb, how to fit a bra so her chest won't hurt when she runs. All of the important things for little girls to know.

In time maybe Jade wouldn't think of him anymore. The hurt would fade and she could move on with her life. Memories of Dave wouldn't haunt her dreams, and fear of him breaking down her door wouldn't keep her awake at night.

_He wouldn't do that_. The guilt is creeping up again. She shakes it off.

Maybe he wouldn't, maybe he would. She can't take that chance. She can almost hold a pen in her right hand again. That's progress. She can't let that slide because she misses her bed and her shower and the man who used to love her.

_Still loves her._

That guilt. John notices again. He looks like he wants to open his mouth, but he thinks better of it. Jade could never express her love for her brother in that moment.

Casey is still talking. What a rude parent Jade is being.

That's okay. In the future she'll be the best surrogate mommy anyone could ever ask for, and the best sister, too. She'll start helping out around the house and filing all of the bills. In time she can go back to work and help with the finances. John is struggling, though he would never admit it. Guilt again.

John is the best friend anyone could ask for. He's supported her all through this strange new time in her life. The way he smiles as the TV lights up his face is almost enough to cheer her up.

Almost.

Her mangled fingers still can't quite hold the remote properly, and she whistles as she exhales. Casey points it out. Jade has to tell her that her big girl teeth just haven't been fitted yet, and she'll sound normal once she has them put back in.

Casey hopes they never put them back in. She says so.

"I like the way you whistle, Aunt Jade!"

John looks like he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. Jade's proud of him for trying. It's hard for him to stand by and watch, she knows. When he leans in for the hug, she wonders why she was ever dreading it in the first place.

_Because he's not Dave._

What's Dave doing right now? Is tonight a good night or a bad night for him? If he were using again, she would never know.

The guilt creeps up once more. She sighs, and the air whistles out of her mouth through the gap in her teeth. Her fingers ache slightly as she moves to change the channel on the TV.

She has no reason to feel guilty, but still she does.

* * *

== Time: keep passing

John is awake already, bleary eyed and yawning. It's early. He isn't giving lessons until late afternoon, so he has a lot of time to kill. What the hell made him get up this early?

He checks in Casey's bedroom. Jade fell asleep next to her again. As Casey's little snores echo through the room he can feel his heart swell in his chest. She's beautiful, like her mom, and he wonders how the hell she manages to be so perfect in the middle of this mess.

Jade looks pretty darn cute too, with her mouth slightly open and _Goodnight Moon _still open in her lap. She looks younger and less worried than John has seen her in years. Before they played the game she looked like that all the time. She looked like that on the day Casey was born. She looked like that as Dave swept her off her feet and carried her down that aisle.

Oh look, he's made himself sad. No time for that nonsense.

John sweeps in to be the heroic father figure once more, tucking in blankets and adjusting pillows to make everyone comfortable. It's not until he reaches to take the book from her hands that he realizes Jade is watching him.

He freezes.

"You can't sleep either?" She's whispering. He nods and invites her down for some coffee. She smiles, and John remembers that she hates coffee. Tea, then.

She still can't grip her cup properly, he notices. The doctor said she might never regain full mobility. Anger and bitterness swell within him.

_Dave_

John misses his bro, maybe as much as Jade does. He looks at her again, smiling sadly into her tea. No, it's probably nowhere near as much as she does. And she probably doesn't hate him the way John does, either. Hate is a strong word, John thinks, but appropriate. Dave was John's best friend, the slightly douchey rock that he needed when being a single Dad got tough. To throw all that away on some fucking stupid cocaine…

And what he did to Jade. What kind of person could ever forgive him for that?

Jade is talking absentmindedly about the weather. Casey will need a sweater, apparently. After all this time, Jade still isn't quite comfortable with the idea of winter clothes. 72 degrees is not sweater weather, he has to remind her. John loves having his sister around, honestly he does. She makes them dinner and reads bedtime stories to Casey when she asks, and when she smiles it feels almost like everything is okay in their little family. She could be the mom.

But then he sees how sad her eyes are and he knows they are both just fooling themselves. She loves Dave, and she loves her old life. No matter how much safer and more stable she might be here, it's not what she wanted.

That's life, though. It's hard to give up on dreams like that, John knows. John remembers the divorce papers and watching Rose walk out of his life. Even though they remained good friends, it still stung sometimes when he woke up and reached for her across the bed and she wasn't there.

It's going to be so much harder for Jade. He knows how she cries at night, and it kills him. She's lost. She still loves him. This isn't a mutual understanding; this is the violent destruction of the tightest bond she's ever felt. There's no way for her to make peace with something like that.

But she has to. Her life _literally_ depends on it.

John is bitter again.

* * *

== Time: pass some more

They talk in the kitchen over their morning tea. Casey hugs her Daddy and Auntie goodbye and runs off to school. She is sad this morning because Daddy doesn't smile anymore, not really. Even when he tries, he looks like he's about to cry. It makes her nervous. Maybe it's time for her to stay with Mom and Kana-Mom for a while.

John and Jade sigh as she leaves. There are some things a five-year-old girl shouldn't have to understand.

_Six. She's almost six now. Get your head out of your ass and remember._

John flinches, wondering when he became such a terrible father and why Casey is so amazing anyway.

Jade is sitting opposite, staring out into the sunshine. She has physical therapy today. Hopefully that will make a difference. Her hips are still stiff, and of course there are her fingers, but her body is rebuilding. She's gotten strong again. Maybe she'll start work soon.

John has a gift for her. Several, in fact. She is so excited; it's been a long time since she's had any good news. He hands her a few boxes stuffed to the brim with junk: clothes, pots, and an old ashtray from when she really liked clove cigarettes. The pawprint poster Bec made her is on top, resting on a nest of plush squiddles and jeans.

"John oh my gosh!" Jade doesn't know what to say. She's grateful and happy but most importantly _he saw Dave._

"Don't get too excited, I couldn't fit everything in my car, I had to leave-"

"How was he?" Jade interrupts.

It's quiet for a moment before John confesses that they couldn't actually talk much. This is a lie but he doesn't really think he can handle reliving the experience with Jade.

Her face falls, and he feels guilty now, too.

She talks more openly now, as she unpacks her whole life before him. Here are her favorite squiddles and their names. Here's her work uniform, still slightly dingy from its last use. Here's her bass, the one she's been itching to riff on while John composes a new piano melody. He brings out a second box, enjoying how enthusiastic she's become. Was she always so excitable?

_Course she was. She was like this all the time._

Jade's face brightens more as she reaches her notes on Earth flora, and her brand new studies on Alternian foliage and it's uses. John listens eagerly as she speaks faster and faster, explaining all sorts of obscure biological terminology with fervent enthusiasm. There's no way he could possibly follow her train of thought, but seeing her happy is enough.

John fucks it all up again. He knows it as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

"Well, I thought you'd want some of this back before it gets lost in the divorce."

Silence. Jade stares at John across the table, lowering the diagram she was so excited about just a moment ago.

Neither of them had used the "D" word before. Her face is tight as he struggles to apologize. She accepts it before the words are even out of his mouth

Guilt again, John's this time. If someone in this damn house doesn't stop feeling guilty the whole family is going to drown in it. John watches Jade carefully, her lips tight and her face blank. She was never this good at hiding her emotions.

Right on cue her lip quivers. She looks almost like Casey, the way her eyes well up as she struggles against the inevitable. John catches her just as the first wail pierces the air, a shrieking, heartbreaking sound closer resembling the cries of a child than the noise of a grown woman. She clings to him furiously and cries loudly, the noise ripping at her throat.

She struggles to suck in air between the sobs, the force eliciting a whistle from her missing teeth. The sound is so inappropriately silly, John thinks. It's piercing and loud and bizarre and yet somehow it breaks his heart. He buries his face in her hair and rocks her gently as her hands scramble across his back.

They stay like that for a long, long time, past the point of Jade losing her voice and John losing feeling in his toes. Even once Jade is still and empty, John won't let her go.


	19. A Mouth Full of Hollow Threats

Notes from Mama Lobster: O guest of little faith, you wound me with your doubts! Have your bittersweet dark chocolate, I hope it is as satisfying as you expected.

Named for RX Bandits.

* * *

A Mouth Full of Hollow Threats

== Dirk: get some control of the situation

Once upon a time that would be a thing you could do. Dump some puppets on the kid and he'd fall right in line. He fucking worshipped you, and you knew it and abused it. Shit's not so easy now. He's older now, and smarter. He definitely outlived you three times over.

Somewhere along the line he realized you were fallible, and he's made that painfully fucking clear to you. You had no idea what you were doing when you were raising him; you were still a kid yourself. He knows that now. He knows it and he doesn't want to listen to anything you have to say.

You can't really blame him. You tried, but what the fuck do you know about babies and shit? Your own dad was in jail by the time you were seven, and all you learned about parenting from him was how to use a belt. He should be grateful you tried as hard as you did.

Fuck, that's not even a little bit true. Dave needed someone to rely on and the best you could do was sword training and rap-offs. Course, this is all really easy to forget when you have to force-feed him so he won't starve himself to death. Then the kid is just a fucking pain in the ass that won't listen to reason.

You have to be on alert 24/7 now. He's got needles stashed in places you couldn't imagine, and when it comes to surprising hiding places you can imagine a lot. More than that is the fucking creative and stupid ways he finds to try to kill himself. It's like he's a goddamn infant again, completely incompetent and in danger anytime he doesn't have adult supervision. The only difference is that horrible, sick feeling you have to push down every time you end up pulling away the mirror shard he's trying to lodge in his throat.

You really, really wish it was as simple as dumping a bunch of puppets on him. There isn't much about puppets that can make you feel this shitty and helpless.

== John: visit

It's not that you don't want to see Dave. Of course you want to see Dave. Dave is your best buddy, your palhoncho, and the only reserve of testosterone you have in this weird family you've created for yourself. You're just not sure how much you want to see Dave like this. There are some questions you have to ask, and you aren't sure you really want the answers to them.

Dirk answers when you knock, barely opening the door. Good. At least there's someone staying with him. He doesn't want to let you in, and you're not sure if that's for Dave's sake or yours. Probably both.

You come in peace, though, and Dirk can't leave you outside forever. Well, he could, but he won't. The dark circles under his eyes are noticeable even beneath his shades.

Dave is in the bedroom, sort of. His body is there. No, you're not really sure even of that much. Something that looks like a nasty, skinny, zombified version of Dave is lying there and you're pretty sure his mind is not anywhere in this room. Well, this makes it really hard to ask what you need to.

"Dave?" He doesn't answer. Somehow this doesn't surprise you.

"Dave I need to pick up some things for Jade. She's home now." He's looking at you, still silent. Jegus that stare is intense. You'll have to swallow the pressure building in your throat if you want to keep going.

"The doctors think her brain's going to be ok, but they told us to keep an eye out for behavioral regression or memory loss. I think she remembers fine though. Oh, and she can talk now."

That stare is still there. Silence. You swallow again.

"Her hands will be better with some therapy, but she might need another surgery to get her hip to bend right again. And, um…" He's still empty. No reaction, no nothing. You're sitting here saying these awful words that should never be arranged in this order and he's just looking at you. Suddenly a cold prickle runs down your spine. Your hands itch to throw something, fight him, do anything to get him to react to these horrible things that you've seen.

"What happened to her?" There. You've asked it. The ball's in his court now.

Dave's stare doesn't falter, but his hands grip the sheets around him a little tighter. Good. He's not deaf, at least. It's still not enough to make up for the comatose girl you've been mopping sweat off of for the past week.

"Dave, I need to know what happened. I need to know if this is true."

His silence is infuriating now. Jade's said these horrible, awful things that you really don't want to believe and Dave just needs to say that she's got it wrong, she hit her head too hard but she'll get better and everything can go back to normal.

"What did you do that night?" The blood starts pumping faster in your ears as he still refuses to react. Please, fuck, do not let this actually be happening.

== Dave: react

The room is moving a little too quickly for that, and it's not like you'd want to ruin the brilliant mellow you've been riding the past few hours anyway. John is here, good bro that he is. Maybe he wants to take a hit with you this time. He always was way too tight-laced; it would be good for him to unwind for a bit. Then again, that look he's giving you makes the room feel ten degrees colder.

Accusations. That's new. John hasn't been all pissy like this since Rose left. You know you're coming down now because this is actually starting to make you sad, in a distant, detached sort of way.

"What did you do?" He's louder now, and the room is colder still. Bullshit, you think, even as the goosebumps run up your neck. He knows exactly what a fuck-up you are, asking you is just a formality. He wants you to say it, because he doesn't want to believe it. What an asshole.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" His voice breaks like a pubescent teenager. Oh my god Egbert sounds like an idiot, and you can't help but laugh. _Probably the wrong move,_ you think as the goosebumps creep further down your arms and your hair starts to rustle.

Yeah, he really didn't like that. The louder he cries the faster the room spins. Dirk's shouting about something, struggling to get closer… Wait, the room literally spins. It's cold and it's moving and you know you shut the window earlier so why the fuck is your hair whipping around like that?

John's rage is tangible as he advances, taller than before and more livid than you can ever remember seeing him. The furious tears in his eyes are whipped away in the breeze before they ever have a chance to fall, and those detached feelings are creeping up faster than you can push them down. Fear is the big one, you're pretty sure. You can tell from the way your heart starts racing in your ears.

He'll kill you. Right now, in this moment, John Egbert is going to murder you using the wind he hasn't touched in over a decade. Fucking beautiful. It's only fitting that the hero slays the monster. Years from now Casey will be telling the story to her kids, the one about her valiant father ridding the world of the evil son of a bitch who tried to murder the gentle princess in cold blood.

Just like that the high is gone, and the detachment is broken. Feeling crashes over you, and all you can do is let yourself drown.

== John: lose yourself

The rage is overwhelming, ringing in your ears and crushing into your heart like a red-hot vice. It's overwhelming and confusing and completely all-encompassing, burning white and freezing black all at once. Worse than anything is the fact that there is nothing you can do with it. Jade is home, recovering, and all the screaming and bloodshed in the world will not heal the pain in her hands, or her bones, or her heart.

Dave is small and sad, alone in a bed made for two and suddenly shaking with dry sobs. To fight him would be to crush a miserably wounded ant. And the worst part is that you want to do it anyway. He's not really Dave. This breathing skeleton nearly killed your sister and destroyed your best friend.

You really wish you could make the tears stop. It's getting hard to see.

Dirk's still shouting at you, making empty threats and trying to push through the air that blocks his path. No, he's fine where he is, and he can stay out of your business. He couldn't protect Jade, so he doesn't get to protect Dave.

Your throat is raw as you cry once more, and the wind moves through you in an oh so satisfying way. Potted plants fly from their spots on the shelving, and the shattering noise they make offers you a grim sort of pleasure. As if the room wasn't enough of a mess already.

A particularly loud, heaving sob breaks you out of your trance. He's strung out of his mind and the noise is more of a whine than anything, but the emotion is there.

"Just finish it." He's pleading with you, and you're itching to give him what he wants. It would be so easy. Jade would be avenged, and none of you would have to deal with the fallout of Dave's self-destruction anymore. Your rage could be sated and everyone would go home.

You advance, slowly and with purpose. The feel of his cheekbone connecting with your fist is more cathartic than you ever anticipated.

== Dave: make peace with it

The pain is blinding, but grounding, and your sobs can stop. You can return to your body again and experience your last moments in peace with some semblance of dignity. The wind stopped, and there is nothing at all between you and the hero with murder in his eyes.

You want him to do it. Please do it. You're ready. It's time, and it's what's best. There can't be any redemption for you now.

Yet for some reason he hesitates. He just stares at you, and those bitter, frustrated tears start to look so sad.

"Don't you dare pity me, John. Just do it."

His hands close gently around your neck and you can vaguely hear Dirk's voice rise in the background. John shakes, and the tears spill harder.

"Why?" His voice is loud and unstable.

"I did it because I'm a despicable human being. Now hurry up."

The hands tighten for a moment and your air supply thins, but John releases once again.

"She trusted you. She really, really believed that you were going to get better."

"I know. She was wrong."

John hiccups loudly, and the noise is almost funny again. His hands are shaking too much to have a firm hold on your neck anymore.

"Please come back, Dave. Please. We need you." They don't need you. You need them so badly to survive but you've done nothing but wreck their shit. All they need is for you to be gone.

John's arms slip from your neck to wrap tightly around your shoulders, and it's all you can do to hold in the pressure in your chest. You can feel how much heavier he is than you now, how much stronger and healthier and better to his friends he has become.

For just one second you are really, really happy to have him there, weeping heavily into your chest. A brave hero might cry over a beast's fall from grace.

== Dave: say goodbye

Dirk hovers with a watchful eye as John straightens his glasses and collects his jacket. It's almost normal. At the very least, it's the first time you've been out of bed all day.

John turns to you, finality set in the lines of his face. Small crows feet decorate the corners of his eyes, and the way his eyebrows furrow looks startlingly adult. For the first time in all the years you've known him, John looks closer to thirty than twenty.

"I can't be here anymore. I can't let Casey be around you, not until you help yourself." That much is obvious, but he needed to say it anyway. "But, Dave, you listen to me. The day that you decide to get yourself some help, I'll be there. You'd better be serious about it, because I'm not going to let you back out once you've started."

It's a joke, you think, and yet somehow it's still comforting. He turns his back to you, addressing Dirk.

"You call me once this goes down, ok? I'm going to expect to hear from you soon." Dirk nods, offering a fist bump that John awkwardly returns.

He only looks back once, and you're not sure if you want to meet his eyes. You've been sober for a while and the buzzing in your ears is getting louder, drowned out only by the memory of Jade's cries of pain. You know exactly what you're going to be looking for as soon as John shuts the door.

He seems to know too, and he won't meet your gaze. The door closes. Just like that, John is gone.


	20. It's Summertime

Notes from Mama Lobster: Sometimes things are calm. Named for The Flaming Lips.

* * *

It's Summertime

== Time: pass again

Jade doesn't cry so much anymore, Casey thinks. Which is not to say never, but still. It's better than all the time.

Jade promises her playdates after school. She has never missed one yet. Sometimes they play with her squiddle dolls, and Jade teaches her the names. Casey's favorite is CK, the big red squiddle that is just a little more harshly loved than the others. She thinks it is the cuddliest, and Jade agrees.

Sometimes they play pretend, where they are out having adventures in the jungle, battling wild robots and scaling ancient temples to search for treasures. Jade knows a lot about these games. She scoops Casey up, holding her in a tight piggyback as she swings on a vine over a ravine, and Casey thinks that Jade is the best playmate ever.

* * *

John is home a lot more. He doesn't go out to play shows as much, and he doesn't take them out to eat much anymore. Jade worries about money, but John insists that he just wants to spend more time at home with his family. They are both right.

* * *

John takes Jade to get her teeth fitted. She comes home with the biggest smile. Her buckteeth are smaller, but only a little. Jade claims she had missed them too much to get rid of them entirely. That, and she doesn't know how to talk without them.

Casey thinks Jade's new smile makes her look beautiful. She hopes she can grow up to be pretty like Jade one day. Uncle Dave always liked her smile, too; he would talk about how pretty it was all the time. Casey wonders if he has told Jade how pretty she looks yet.

* * *

Thursday night is movie night, and Casey is always allowed to pick. Except on the third week of the month, when they watch Con Air and Casey sits tight on John's lap. He holds her close and she thinks about how stable his chest is. His heartbeat feels nice against her ear.

She falls asleep on his chest more often than not. Jade will tuck them both in before tuning in to something decidedly more tasteful.

* * *

John and Jade have tea every morning, forming a ritual and discussing what the plans are for the day. They talk about who's going to pick Casey up from the bus and whether or not Jade should be around while John composes. Casey asks if Jade is gonna come with them on the family camping trip next summer, and John looks at her with the same question in his eyes. Jade doesn't know where she will be next summer, but she doesn't want to let Casey down.

* * *

Casey's sixth birthday comes faster than expected. Rose brings home a beautiful sari from her recent travels, handcrafted and expensive looking. Jade gets her a pellet gun, which is promptly taken away for when she gets older. John gets her an exceedingly complex card game, which she loves because they can all play it together. He goes so far as to make her a cake. Rose laughs at him and mentions something about "history repeating itself." Casey doesn't get it, but the cake is really good anyway.

Casey doesn't understand something. She asks why Uncle Dave isn't there.

Dave's name isn't spoken very often in the house anymore, and when it is, it is quiet. John tries to explain that her Uncle Dave is sick, but Casey thinks that is dumb. She's visited when he's sick before, and it's her birthday. It's important and he should be there to say hello.

* * *

It's a few nights later when Casey hears Jade crying. She's alone on the couch making that scary noise that Casey has become too familiar with. Jade and John talk, and Casey wonders why they always sound so sad when they are alone.

"Dave"

It's the quiet word that no one wants you to say. The grown-ups only say it when they are really serious about something, and usually there are words like "sick" and "help" and "don't go back." Sometimes "divorce." They whisper and cry together, and nothing ever changes.

Tonight is the same. John holds Jade and murmurs about how Dave is sick, about how Big Uncle Dirk is helping him out, how they would know if he was dead and so she shouldn't worry anymore.

Is he really that sick?

Casey is tired of this. If he is sick then he can get better, and she doesn't know why Jade and John don't seem to understand this. She clears her backpack, dumping out piles of coloring books and turtle stickers, and drags it to the bathroom.

Cough syrup. Band-Aids. Eye drops. Aspirin. It all fits into her bag so neatly. Everything she could ever need.

Oh, except one thing. She stops by the kitchen to grab a can of chicken soup and a leftover slice of birthday cake.

Good. Now she can go.

John and Jade are asleep now, with Jade's head in John's lap. No use saying bye, Casey thinks. She's just going to drop some stuff off and maybe take Uncle Dave's temperature, and she'll be back before they ever wake up.

Just in case, she leaves a note on the fridge, she knows better than to make her Dad worry. But really, she'll be back before they ever know she's gone. She's sure of it.


	21. Where Would I Be

Notes from Mama Lobster: SS, you flatter me so. And thank you everyone reading! Casey is about to have an adventure. Let's watch.

Named for Cake. Probably not the kind you eat, though.

* * *

Where Would I Be?

== Be Casey

You are Casey Egbert, and you don't know how you ended up in such a horrible place.

Uncle Dave must have been robbed. The door was open and there was broken glass on every surface. Not that there were many surfaces other than the floor. All of his furniture was either broken or gone, with the exception of an empty makeshift bed on a worn-down couch.

There is a noise from the bathroom. Something else has broken, something glass. You shake. Are the robbers still here? Should you run? Should you call for help?

You call for Dave, because you know that he will save you.

== Be Dave

You are Dave Strider, and the cry you hear just about makes you shit your pants. The powder that should be in your body and mind right now is scattered over your feet, piling on the floor.

You panic for a moment. Jade just called for you, trying to guard her chest from your feet while shielding her broken hand. She shouts and she retches and oh gog do you want to help, but your hand is bleeding and your mind is gone into a blur of fear and adrenaline and you're shaking too hard to even hold yourself up fuck fuck fuck the noise she makes with your heel through her stomach-

She screams again. "Uncle Dave!"

And something inside you clicks.

== Dave: Return to the apartment

Your bathroom floor is cold but welcome. The heat was shut off last month, you remember vaguely as you grope for the last of your stash. No wait, you shouldn't be doing that right now. Why shouldn't you be doing that right now?

Because there is a five year old girl in your hellhole of an apartment.

Shit.

No, it'll be fine, your Bro can pick her up and get her out. Or he could if he wasn't staying upstairs, where there was still heat and electricity.

Where the fuck do you go from here?

== Be Casey

You have to walk carefully here. Everything is broken and painful looking, and your little sandals are hardly enough to protect your feet from the remnants of a television lying in the hallway. Dave hasn't come for you yet. It's so strange. When you were little, he was always right there when you called. Especially when you were scared. You always got the feeling he was a little bit scared too. He understood.

Daddy, Jade, and Dirk said that Dave needed their help this time. Maybe he's even more scared than you are.

You put on a brave face and keep going. You love your Uncle Dave and there is no way you are going to let him be scared all alone. Even though he is a grownup and you are a kid, you know that this is something you can do.

== Be Dave

The soft footsteps are getting closer, and you still can't pull yourself off the bathroom floor. There might be a cut on your head, judging from the stinging pain and your blurred vision. Fuck, why is she here? Where's John? What the hell kind of father drops his little girl off with her deadbeat, addict uncle, anyway?

No. Don't think about John right now, not when you're so close to sober. You know what happens when you think about John.

John is not here. John won't help you, and he won't kill you, and his daughter is here right now so you need to pull yourself the fuck together and get her out.

You gather the last of your strength, elbows shaking as you push off the cold tile. You only have a moment to wonder when it was that you got so much weaker until Casey is in your doorway.

The way she looks at you, with those terrified eyes... She's watching you bleed. She's watching you bleed and shake and struggle towards her on wobbly knees. Why the FUCK can't you get yourself together and where the FLYING FUCK is John?

Your strength is gone, but you think fast. You cover your fall in a hug, wrapping your arms around her as your knees hit the ground once again. Maybe she didn't notice how badly you were shaking.

"Hey Casemaster."

== Be Casey

All you can feel is Uncle Dave shaking around you. You don't know what to do. This is scary, and you really want your Dad right now. Dad's hugs are never scary, they're stable and warm and maybe he was right about not being able to fix this.

Uncle Dave is really small now, you notice, and his skin is cold and sticky. When you two used to play he was so big, even bigger than Daddy. He would put you on his shoulders and you knew that this was the top of the world, the tallest you could ever be on the shoulders of the strongest, sturdiest base a girl could ever hope to have.

He's saying something, but it's really quiet and you can't understand. There is a big shudder and you can feel his stomach tighten. Is he gonna throw up?

No, he just coughs a little. When he speaks again it's a little clearer.

"Where's your dad?"

You are a little sad. Isn't he happy to see you? He could at least ask how you are. You came all the way here by yourself to help him out, and he just keeps coughing and shaking. He's supposed to pick you up now.

"He's not here. I came by myself."

Uncle Dave tenses up around you, and you can't help but tense up too.

== Be Dave

You need that line so badly right now it hurts. Every cell in your body is fighting the sobriety that is rapidly overtaking you, and all you can feel is the shame. Fuck, you don't want to feel that.

You are a monster wrapped around a little girl, you realize. At any moment you could snap and break her neck.

She really can't be here right now. She can't be here ever.

You scramble away from her as fast as your weakened legs will let you. There is a look of hurt on her face, and you know it would take exactly 2.3 seconds to get over to that pile of white on the floor and make it all go away. No, she can't see you do that. You have to deal with her first. But fuck, you can't touch her. You can't let her walk out on her own, with the broken glass and booby-trapped furniture everywhere. You lost that needle last week, what if she finds it?

The panic is creeping up again. You are helpless. You will only hurt her, no matter what you do. Where did you put that phone?

== Be Casey

Uncle Dave tosses you a phone. He won't look at you, won't pick you up to carry you over the debris. Does he hate you now?

== Be Dave

You know you are sober when you can hear Casey whisper to her dad, like she is afraid to startle you. He's yelling on the other line. Hysterical almost. The last time you heard him so panicked…

"_Why?"_

Like John ever could have understood. That's just fucking funny right there.

"_The day that you decide to get yourself some help, I'll be there."_

Just the memory of the phrase sends you into a rage you don't fully understand. You need to smash shit, you need to not feel anymore, you need to forget, and fuck if you don't need to be someone else right now.

Casey jumps away from you as you leap from the couch. In a brief moment you consider shoving her out of the way, launching past her to get to that pretty white line you left on the bathroom floor. It would only take 5.8 seconds.

Then you realize, once again, that you are a monster.

== Be Casey

Your Uncle Dave is scaring you. He is staring at you like he wants you to be gone. Like he wants you to die right there. He's so skinny and pale now. You remember when he was tall and big and safe, and when he loved you back.

Daddy is calming down now. He's coming to pick you up real soon.

== Be Dave

Casey is looking like she is afraid of you again. You can't blame her. You are just as terrified of yourself right now. She is so close and so small, and right now she is standing between you and the release you so desperately need.

She hangs up the phone with John. The anxiety builds in your mind.

_Keep it cool, Strider_.

You are not doing a great job of keeping it cool. The worry is creeping out of your mind, into the speed of your heartbeat and the knot in your chest. The apartment is blurry, but you have to focus. She is so much smaller than Jade, if you hurt her…

_Don't think about that._

She was so broken on the floor holy fuck is she dead oh god oh god oh god you want to be sick again.

_No. Control it. Breathe through it._

Casey is in the same place. How could Casey possibly survive when she can't even defend herself like Jade could don't do it don't do it don't do it fuck please stop bleeding stop you don't want to see it anymore you don't want to hurt her make it stop make it stop make it stop…

== Be Casey

Uncle Dave is crying so loudly, and you don't know what to do. You haven't seen anyone cry quite like this. He doesn't sound very much like a person.

You know now it was a bad idea for you to come. Maybe you did this to him.

You want to run, but there is nowhere to go. Daddy would get so mad if you left before he got there.

Daddy

What does Daddy do when you get sad?

== Be Dave

Your cool is gone. Whatever was left of it is gone. Maybe it's better like this. You could scare Casey away from you and she'd be safe there. She would be happy.

You could never be happy like that, you think. The sound of your crying is both intensely personal and very far away. Someone in your body, sharing your mind, is yelling and in pain, but it is not you.

And someone else is petting your hair. It's too firm to be soothing, but you know that it's not hostile.

Casey smiles and continues to pat you just a little too hard. Her smile grows when she sees that you are looking up at her.

Suddenly you are very aware of how tight your face feels. There are no tears falling, you are far too dehydrated for that, but dried blood is cracking on your eyebrow. Casey doesn't seem bothered by it. Maybe it's been there the whole time.

Casey just keeps smiling at him.

"It's gonna be alright, you know."

You don't know, actually.

"You are my best Uncle Dave and you are gonna get through this ok!"

No you are not.

"Because you need to come back and play with me again, and you can't do that if you're sick!"

Something about the innocence in this phrase catches you off guard.

Innocence.

There's something you haven't dealt with in a while. You think of when you and John were young, trusting each other blindly behind a computer screen. That one time when you told him about that awesome tree fort you lived in with Nicolas Cage, and he believed you, because that's just the sort of kid he was.

She really does look just like him. Except for her mother's pretty yellow hair; she looks just like her dad.

You remember when Jade looked at you the same way that Casey did, with complete trust and love. It wasn't all that long ago, maybe a year or two. The last time she looked at you she couldn't see out of her left eye.

You love them all so much.

Why on earth do they put up with you? Why do they ever bother?

== Be Casey

Uncle Dave doesn't look like he's really seeing you anymore. He's looking at you, yeah, but he's not really listening. You tell him all about how awesome he is, and how much you like riding on his shoulders, and how Auntie Jade cries in her sleep because she misses him. You tell him that he is the best Uncle ever, even if he got robbed. That's ok, because he's Uncle Dave and he can fix it.

He is seeing you again. He heard it. He's listening.

== Be Dave

You sure as hell heard it.

"Fix it"

It sounds like a command in your mind. Casey is ordering you. She knows what you need to do next and she won't rest until you do it.

Maybe that's not how she meant it. You couldn't really hear that well through the buzzing in your ears. The headache is there, and you realize you have been scratching again. Stop that, she'll get scared.

"Fix it" she says again. You have no idea what came before or after, but she's given her command.

You lean into her hand, allowing her to grab a fistful of your filthy hair. You hear how grossed out she is, vaguely. It's been a long time since you've had a shower, and you have to be pretty nasty by now.

You don't know if you can ever clean up again, but fuck if you won't at least try.


	22. Butterflies and Hurricanes

Notes from Mama Lobster: Welcome to Act 2 of The Kids Aren't Alright. Thanks for hanging in there, everyone.

Named for Muse

* * *

Butterflies and Hurricanes

== Dirk: watch

Well, it's all you can do, really. The flight is set, his space is booked, there will be a car waiting to pick him up once he reaches the coast. They told him he couldn't bring his shades, because they don't like for patients to hide their eyes. Some bullshit about "trust exercises." You wonder if he's going to have to do trust falls, too.

Rehab is such a fucked up place. They "trust" you while keeping you caged up in a hospital bed, waiting to be poked at like a puppet in heat. Sure with Dave it's just about the swankiest hospital bed money can buy, but it's the "caged" thing that bothers you more.

He's having trouble already, you know it. You can hear him fumble with shaky-ass hands trying to get all his useless shit into one suitcase. Clothes, toothbrush, deodorant… you tried to put Cal in there for good luck, but the kid didn't seem too pleased about it. You have to adjust your jaw a little bit; the bruising is still fresh and sore. Maybe "not too pleased" is an understatement.

He's ready; you don't even have to look to know. The silence and shaky breaths give away more than Dave would probably like.

Kid's a fucking mess. You really hope he's gonna be able to handle this.

== Dirk: drive

For once you have to try keeping it slow. Your car is a hell of a lot less glamorous than Dave's, and rattles around every corner. Dave looks like he's about to pass out next to you, and no matter how much you really, really want to, you'd still feel like an asshole if you made him puke right now. What if he flips and backs out? Dude's dancing on a fishing wire here and you're sure as fuck not gonna be the one to push him over.

Dave makes a move like he wants to say something, but hesitates. You can't help but notice the way his shoulder twitches in a spasm.

"Spit it out." Oh, what a fucking hypocrite you are.

Dave shifts. He's freaked out, you asshole, be nice to him. Life or death here. It's fucking hilarious, actually; after all the stupid, dangerous stunts he's pulled and the bullshit heroic battles he's lived through, Dave Strider's defining moment is in the passengers seat of your shitty station wagon.

Hah fucking hah.

He's shifting again, opening his mouth to talk. A pause.

"It's nothing."

Dave's fingers claw at his shoulder, trying to stop the itch that they can't reach.

== Dirk: say goodbye

He's got his boarding pass, pretty soon he's gonna be gone through that gate to where you can't follow him. Kid still hasn't said shit. Neither have you, though, and it's your last fucking chance. At least he has an excuse to be nervous.

"Kid…" He doesn't want to look at you, but he has to. "…Dave."

Welp. That did it.

It's like the kid's never used his legs before in his life, the way he spins. He's making an ass of himself, nearly dropping the suitcase and tripping over himself. Stupid, uncoordinated fucking addict and the stupid fucking chemical bullshit that got him there.

His face is ashen and gaunt as he stares, but somehow his eyes stay defiant. Heh. It always did have to be about the challenge. That's ok. He can win it this time.

"Good luck."

The muffled intercom announcements sound awkwardly out of place in the silence that follows, but you're pretty okay with that. You could use a little white noise.

It takes forever for him to nod. Maybe he likes keeping you waiting. Maybe his reflexes aren't what they used to be and it just takes him that long to process. Maybe he still hates you. Who knows? One fist bump later and all you can see is his back disappearing in the crowd.

He'd best look like a goddamn hero of time again when he gets back.


	23. Lullaby

A little interlude written by the lovely Brooke Stardust.

Notes from Mama Lobster: Since I apparently need to start being Hussie and cranking out recaps, I will just redirect one of our dear guests to chapters 1 and 2, in which it's stated that Rose and John got together, had a kid way too young, named her Casey, and then divorced.

Love you all.

* * *

== Be John

Every alarm is going off in your head as you look at your daughter. She's usually a very happy girl, which just serves as a harsh contrast to how upset she looks right now. You get up off of the couch as quickly as you can and go over to her, ready to try to explain away a nightmare or cure a stomach ache.

She's holding your cell phone and you wish you knew what to make of the whole mess.

== Be Casey

All you wanted to do was call your uncle at the hospital. Daddy had said that Uncle Dave had to go stay with some doctors for a while to get better. You were able to call Auntie Jade when she was in the hospital and she said it made her feel a lot better to be able to talk to you, even if you and Daddy couldn't go visit her in person that day.

The number for her room was one of the first phone numbers you memorized. You remember because it was just like Daddy's, except for the end.

Uncle Dave's number is a lot weirder. None of the numbers match with any that you know, but that did make it stand out a lot more in Daddy's call history. You were pretty proud of yourself for finding it. Everyone had been keeping it such a secret.

It was like they didn't want you to find it at all.

You think you know why now.

== Be John

Your sobbing daughter standing in front of you is breaking your heart, because you know there is nothing you can say to make this better for her.

"They said I can't talk to him." She's about to drop the phone, so you take it from her, looking down at it.

Well fuck.

"It's because Uncle Dave is still sick, Case," you try to explain weakly.

"Auntie Jade was way more sick than he is! He just has a bloody nose, Daddy. I saw it! He can still talk, even with his nose broken!"

You want to explain that he can't. That it isn't his nose that's the problem. You want to tell your daughter that addiction isn't something you can put a band-aid on top of and kiss better. You want this whole thing to go away so you can stop having to make up excuses for your bros stupid decisions.

You stop wanting things you can't have and hug your daughter.

== Be Casey

You seriously don't know what is going on with your daddy. His hugs were never so sad feeling before.

He's just telling you that he loves you and that he's sorry. You don't understand. What is he sorry for? You cling to his shirt and hope that this stops being so confusing soon. Even if it is sad, you do feel a lot better with his arms around you.

Maybe he can give a hug to Uncle Dave.

== Be John

You pick up your daughter and carry her back to her bed. "Once upon a time," you pause and swallow to try to stop your voice from cracking. "Once upon a time there was a very brave knight. The brave knight fought many scary and daunting battles to protect his friends.

"Sometimes the battles followed him home, although they didn't really. But he couldn't forget them. They would come back in nightmares and when he wasn't thinking about anything in particular."

Casey lays her head on your shoulder. She's no longer crying and you're relieved.

"Even after he had saved the kingdom, and everything went back to being peaceful, he still had his nightmares. He couldn't forget the battles he had fought and the times he almost didn't win. He knew these thoughts weren't real, but they still felt scary. He tried to distract himself in every way he could think of. He tried eating, talking to his friends about everything but his feelings, sleeping, but none of it worked, and his friends were beginning to notice.

"'Knight,' said the witch, 'I think you need to find a safe space talk to someone about how you feel!' but the knight said no.

"'Knight,' said the heir, 'You should stop trying to blow away these scary things that aren't real!' but the knight said no.

"'Knight,' said the prince, 'You need to stop hiding from what's bothering you and be strong and face it!' but the knight said no.

"So the knight kept hiding how he felt, and his mind got more and more sick from the bad feelings. He got so sick that everyone in the kingdom started to notice, not just his friends.

"Even the kingdom's princess noticed how sick he was, even though she didn't know exactly why. It was then that he realized how unhealthy he really was.

"So the knight decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He found a medic in a kingdom across the way, got on his horse and promised to return only when he was better. All of the kingdom wished him a safe return home and, although they would miss him so much it hurt, they knew this was something he had to do."

"Did he get better, Daddy?" Casey is looking up at you from your shoulder. You rub her back and move to tuck her in.

"I'm sure he will, sweetheart."

You kiss your daughter's forehead and close the door to her room as soon as you hear her breathing deepen into sleep.

You just hope that it will be enough.

== Be Jade

Your name is Jade Harley and you are so envious of a six year old you think you can hardly contain it.

You catch your brother as he enters the hallway, looking drained and lost. Your eyes meet and reaches for your hand, dragging you back to the sofa.

"Does the knight get better?" you ask softly, as he loads up some shitty action film.

There's a slight jerking pause in his movement before he finishes preparing the movie. Neither of you really want to face the answer to that question. He hands you the remote to the television and sits across from you, not saying a word. There is nothing you, nor anyone else can say.

You curl your knees to your chest, wishing that your knight would come home cured and that a bed time story could save you from this nightmare that you're living.


	24. Misery's the River of the World

Notes from Mama Lobster: I happen to really enjoy this chapter, because I'm sick like that. I suppose you guys must have picked up on this fact already.

Named for Tom Waits.

* * *

Misery's the River of the World

== Dave: Strife

It's so fucking dark; how does anyone manage to exist in a place like this? You scratch at your arm, but there is no place for traction. Your sweat catches in your fingers as they slip uselessly up and down your arms.

You shake on your feet as you move forward. The corridor shakes around you and holy fuck you could just fall down and it would all be wonderful. Except you would die. You're fairly certain of that, though you're not sure why.

Forward is the only way.

No it's not, that's a wall.

You slide along the wall, and yet it seems to keep moving on you. There's a light somewhere, but your vision is too blurred to see where. The sweat is stinging your eyes.

_Kill Me_

You shake off the thought. The comfort of death is enticing, but the misery here would eat you whole. You are afraid.

There are hands on you. It's Gamzee, feeling for a vein to slice. It's Bro, pulling you off Jade. It's Casey, looking for a little comfort amidst the broken glass. It's John, begging you to get out before Lord English kills you and Jade and Rose and everything is lost once again.

No, it's a set of bed sheets. They are cold and wet and stuck to your skin in a truly fucking terrible way. It feels fucking awful, someone get them off.

Hands are trying to. They might be yours.

The pressure in your chest is unbearable. You scratch harder, but there is still no traction to be found in all the salt and fear. No release.

_Kill Me_

Bro is already dead. Davesprite follows. The game is kind and lets Bro return. The game is cruel and forgets that Davesprite ever existed.

Feathers everywhere. Feathers around your neck, in your lungs. Arms around you. Your own arms, except bright and orange and so much stronger.

"You better not have fucking forgotten me, asshole." Davesprite smirks into your ear as he drags you further into the dark.

Jade is there, but not really. She's dead a thousand times over, and once more as an adult in a hospital bed with her friends at her side.

"You hurt my girl you sick mother fucker. You think I would have done this if I survived? Fuck no. I could have given her everything. All that sunshine and puppies and cliche metaphors and whatever the fuck else she could have dreamed of."

His hands find your neck. You wonder how he can hold you with all the sweat, but you remember how much stronger and better he was than you.

It's still so dark, but you see her in front of you again; Davesprite won't let you look away. You see her like you've never seen before, as she looks into your eyes and begs while you stomp into her ribcage.

Davesprite is Gamzee now, his arms elbow deep within your chest, twining within your veins. It's so hard to breathe, and his breath feels awful on your face. He rasps in your ear, each inhale a rattling laugh.

_Kill Me_

You open your mouth to scream, but it's hoarse and dry. There are fingers there. Fur and claws and snarling so close to your ears you can hardly think any longer.

Noir hovers over you, inches away from your face. Gamzee holds you still, his grip tight upon your beating heart. A sacrifice, maybe.

When Noir's maw is on you, you know this is no sacrifice. This is a memory. He tears off your belly and gnaws, as a dog content with his bone. You reach for your timetables but still you know you are too late. Your best hope is to find another Dave and stop it from happening again. As he reaches his bloody snout through your stomach to devour your heart, you see yourself waiting…

Gamzee holds you steady once again as you encounter your own bones, picked nearly clean of meat. Only your face remains, shades still intact.

_KILL ME_

You don't want to die alone here. Not rotted and devoured by the darkness.

_KILL ME_

No.

Gamzee's hands recede, and your breath comes more easily. He laughs, honking harshly into your ear and pulling hard upon your hair.

Jade's laugh is there too, but hers is kind. Casey is holding your hand.

You beat Jade's teeth out of her mouth while Casey watches. John tries so hard to shield her eyes, but still she knows.

_Kill Me_

No.

It's dark again, and the sweat has made you slippery. Even Gamzee can't hold you quite steady anymore as you rush towards the remains of John Egbert.

Rose is close enough to kiss him, you know. You yell for her to run, but it only distracts her in a vital moment. She is gone.

It's okay. You can kiss them both to life and it will be fine.

Except there is your own dead body, appearing next to both of them. You can never get there fast enough. The timeline is doomed.

_Kill Me_

No.

Davesprite hovers near you, unable to touch you. He is no longer so cruel, but he pleads. His eyes meet yours as his tail begins to fade. The game is ending.

"Shit shit fuck dude you can't let me die here. Not after all this stupid shit we've been through. Help me."

But there is nothing you can do. His cries become more desperate, more furious than ever. Soon he is shouting incomprehensible nonsense, and then there is only feathers and silence.

And darkness.

_kill me_

No.

You are not going to die alone here. You are afraid to die alone here, and so you will not. You will die next to Jade, John, and Rose, with Casey in your arms, once you have proven to them that you can be better. They will hold your hand when you go.

Not here in the dark.

Except now it's not so dark, and the sheets are back. The orange glow of streetlights filters in through your blinds, illuminating the dark hospital briefly before it swims again. You see Davesprite once more.

_kill me_

No.

If you die here then no one will remember him, or you. You have to at least wait for the sun to rise. The people come when the sun rises.

You will not die alone in the dark.


	25. Basket Case

This chapter written, once again, by Brooke Stardust

Notes from Mama Lobster: I see your clacks of approval and wave my crusher claw in sheepish thanks! And thanks to Argentum. I think I kind of needed to hear that? I can't pretend it's not disheartening to have not gotten a bigger response, but all of you still reading have been so wonderful. I can never thank you enough.

* * *

Basket Case

== Dave : Detox

Comfortable and safe your ass. You have never felt something so absolutely physically awful as this in your life. Even being killed on your quest bed at least had a light at the end of the tunnel. This is just making you wish you could just shoot the fuck up and get everything to stop. All you can feel is need, need, _need._

The nurses keep telling you that it'll be over soon. You're starting to think they're lying just to keep you in this hell. If this is the punishment for everything you've done, you sure as fuck deserve it.

Doesn't mean you have to like it though.

== Dave : Begin

You're sitting in an office. It's bright and airy, overlooking a small stretch of private beach. The window is cracked open and you can hear the salt water moving lightly against the sand. You suppose that it's supposed to be soothing, but right now it just sounds like a metronome.

"Mr. Strider?" The doctor across from you brings you back to the moment. She looks like you suppose Kanaya would look were she human. She's long and elegant and has an air of professionalism about her that you're very not used to, what with being surrounded by Hollywood scum all the time.

"Yeah, sorry," you're not really, but it doesn't matter. "Just," the waves crash again, "Thinking about what brought me here."

"Interesting," she sits back, putting down your paperwork. "Why don't you talk through it?"

You snort. "You really think you have the time?"

"How about starting at the end?" She glances at the paperwork and nods to herself. "You checked yourself in here. It wasn't the act of someone else. Why don't we begin there?"

"A six year old girl told me I needed to fix it." She watches you patiently as you shift in your seat. "My niece," you explain. "Best bro's mistake kid. She busted in. No, wait. Fuck. I guess she walked in. Door must have been unlocked. To my apartment, I mean. I don't even know how she got there."

The scene is playing itself out in your mind with a clarity your words could never create. You can see Casey standing, avoiding glass shards. You can feel the cravings you fought that night surging through your veins. You can hear John on the phone, panicked and urgent.

"Mr. Strider," the doctor looks concerned. You realize you've been scratching, and quickly move to sit on your hands.

"Sorry."

"What were you seeing just then?"

"Nothing."

She gives you a look and you realize there is very little you will be able to get past this woman. You're not used to people not going along with your shit. They usually bend over backwards to appease the great Dave Strider. As far as you know, this woman has never heard of you or your films. The thought unnerves you a bit.

She is silent, watching intently as she waits for you to change your answer.

You sigh and dig your fingernails back into your arm.

"Well..."

== Dave : Continue

The next few days turn into a bit of a blur. You've been hiding behind the emotionless façade of a coolkid for so long that it feels foreign and awkward to discuss any feelings you may have. Talking about actual issues proves difficult and uncomfortable.

So, a lot of the time, you listen.

You learn that your therapist's name is Dr. Amy Ford. That she's been doing intensive drug rehab therapy for eighteen years. That she's heard of you but never bothered with your films, however she promised to make time for them soon. You learn that just being here and admitting there is a problem is a big step. That as long as you can get though today without using, you might have the chance to get through tomorrow.

It isn't so bad, once you get used to it. The days are very much planned and structured and, after all the time you've spent in such an erratic life style, it's nice to have some organization.

You wake up at the same time each morning, eat breakfast at the same time, go to one-on-one therapy with Dr. Ford, have lunch, answer your mail, hang out in the common area, have dinner, check in with your doctor, and go to bed. Everything is set to a strict schedule and free time is kept to a minimum. You suspect it's to keep your mind from wandering to using or getting lost in flashbacks.

All things considered, it is helping. You're so busy from moment to moment that the acute need you had in the beginning has started to dull down to a constant ache. It won't ever leave, you've been assured of that fact, but it's becoming something that you think, in time, you might even be able to get used to.

As it stands, you haven't talked much about the experiences that lead you to where you were. You mention the past few months, recalling them with an almost eidetic memory, but you're not sure that you're ready to mention anything earlier. Dr. Ford seems to trust what you're saying, but you don't know if that would last were you to start bringing up the fucking video game which destroyed a universe.

== John: Write

You do. Every week. You're not even sure if Dave is reading them, but you chug out letters like it is part of your job.

You haven't quite forgiven him yet, but you figure someone needs to show him they care.

Every word feels painfully like something your dad would write. You make sure that each letter expresses how proud you are that Dave's still there and that you know it's a difficult journey, but you're so excited to see him when he gets out. You pepper your pride with updates on how things are going back at home. How you are thinking of getting a new (used) car, how Casey's been doing in school, or how the last concert you played went.

At times, you worry that your updates might be too mundane and ordinary for someone in this extreme situation, but Rose assures you that keeping things realistic is the best way to go about this. Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy the little things. Small victories are still victories, after all.

== Dave: Read

You spend a lot of time wondering what it was that you did to earn you such a loyal friend. There have been many times you wanted to just leave the center and go back to the familiar and numb lifestyle you were living, but you just can't imagine how disappointed John would be in you.

John's letters don't speak of anything thrilling or life changing, and they aren't especially well written, but they are filled with a rawness and emotion that you know is real. Every time you read through one, you can imagine John writing it, tapping the pen against the table while lost in thought. You imagine that he pauses almost constantly, making sure that what he's about to say next isn't something that would potentially set you off.

John is very careful to not mention Jade, you notice. It is a fact that you are both thankful for and terrified of. You don't know if he's protecting you, or protecting her at this point. You don't know if you could handle reading that she wasn't doing well...The last time you saw her, Jade was still dead to the world. Her dull eyes stared blankly ahead as the sterile hospital environment seemed to eat her alive.

No, stop. You can't go there. Not right now.

You make a mental note to bring it up in therapy though. As stupid as you think most of this psych stuff is, you figure it might make a difference. It's not like you really have a choice but to play along.

== Dave: Play along

It has been forty three days, four hours, eight minutes and ten seconds since you arrived at the center. A good portion of those days were spent removing all toxic chemicals from your body, but the remainder were spent going though pretty intensive therapy.

You have decided that you like Dr. Ford. She doesn't force you to talk or rush you into explanations. She is comfortable in letting silences play out, and allowing you to admit things at your own pace, whether or not she thinks that pace is a little bit slow.

Even after more than a month of daily meetings, you've still been holding back. She knows that you have flashbacks and are triggered by clocks, that you dislike dogs and that you're irrationally obsessed with time, but she still doesn't know why.

You just don't want to sound like a psychopath.

She is watching you again, letting you begin the session on your own terms. For the past two days, you have been sitting in silence. She's said you've made great progress, but there is only so much that can be done when all you're willing to talk about is the past six months.

== Amy Ford: Wait

This is a game you've played before and one you do not mind playing again. Dave Strider will talk when he is ready, and waiting is not something that bothers you. The silence itself is speaking volumes. You can only imagine what happens when he actually talks.

He shuffles in his chair, staring down at his shoes.

You're not sure what you had been expecting, but it certainly was not this.

== Dave: Sound like a psychopath

The silence finally cracked you and everything just comes spilling out. Every fucking detail about the game, how you watched yourself die countless times, how you and your friends became gods at thirteen while trying and failing to stop the destruction of a universe, how you teamed up with a group of aliens and fought against a queen for a ring in some fucked up semblance of a chess match.

You get so lost in the talking that you totally forget where you are. Every memory floods from your damaged psyche and you feel like you can't get them out fast enough. It's as though you could just pass them to her for safekeeping, and maybe forget about them forever and move the fuck on.

You talk until your throat turns horse and your voice is little more than a whisper. You're not sure how long you've been going at it, but the bright morning sky has turned dark and speckled with stars. You finally look up from your sneakers. Dr. Ford is still watching you, waiting to see if you've finished.

"That was," she pauses, considering her next words.

"You don't believe me." you offer.

"It's not that. There are parts I don't particularly understand, but, even if it was all false, which I don't think it is, it's clearly very real to you." She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. "And isn't that what matters?"

You don't know what to say. You've been spending months believing that, after you let it all out, you'd be laughed out of rehab. But she believes you. She knows that this is a very real thing for you, and she's willing to suspend her disbelief to help you work through it.

Dr. Ford is smiling at you knowingly, gathering her papers together and standing to guide you to the dining hall.

Welp.


	26. Say It If You Mean It

Notes from Mama Lobster: Apologies for the wait! The fanfic is far from done, I've just been a little overwhelmed and updating has taken a back seat. Thank you all for reading! Named for Tsunami Bomb.

* * *

Say It if You Mean It

== Dave: write

You want to, really, but nothing comes. What can you say? "Sup John, today we had the biggest breakthrough in therapy and then I puked less than usual?" There's nothing for you to tell him, not really. You guess you could ask about some things, but you're not really sure you want to know the answers to the big questions nagging in your mind.

In the end you just scribble out a crappy comic, like usual. This time the stairs were a little blacker, devolving into a crudely drawn toilet bowl with teeth. Sweet Bro has to crawl for it if he's gonna make it up all the way.

== Jade: work

It's your first day back, and you think you are sort of okay with it. Your hip is sore, and your grip on the watering can is weaker than it used to be. Still, your smile is fixed and steady, and your supervisor gives you more leeway than you're used to. It could always be worse, you have to remind yourself. The sun is shining and your muscles are pleased to be in use again. It could be so much worse.

No one asks too many questions, and for that you're grateful. You can pass off most of the injuries as the result of a car crash, and after some sympathetic glances and a little bit of extra help, most of your coworkers have forgotten that anything was ever wrong. They chat and they sing and they push each other into the dirt while they eat lunch, and you just can't wait for John to come pick you up. You check your phone again, counting the minutes until you can pass out on John's couch.

The distraction causes your fingers to slip, and the water splashes down to soak your sneakers. You swallow and fight back tears, and then remind yourself again that it could be worse.

== Amy Ford: listen

He's made a lot of progress, your faux-cool Hollywood agent. Usually dealing with these artistic types is frustrating, with them always expecting you to treat them differently and turn the topic to whatever form of mindless entertainment they seem to be churning out. No, this one is different. He didn't come to you out of shame from too much partying, or some creative issue where heroin became his "muse." He's a bit of an enigma even now, speaking of strange new universes and horrific violence against children. There's something truly tragic about him, and it's been a long time since you've had such an interesting case.

You ask him briefly if there's anything in particular he wants to discuss today, and he starts in with a story about his best friend and his niece back home, how he still can't seem to write. Excellent progress. Only a few weeks ago he would have shielded himself with sarcasm if you asked such a question.

_Restoring trust and sincerity. _You make a note of it on your clipboard, resisting the urge to smile as he begins to question you.

"Seriously, I've been nothing but a douche to this guy. King of the douches. He could build me a fucking crown of literal douche bags and I would deserve to wear it. Why the fuck would he still write?"

"Why are you so quick to assume he wouldn't?"

"…Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

"Mr. Strider, from what you've told me you've gone through some extraordinarily traumatic experiences with this person. You've shared a significant portion of your lives together. Have you considered that maybe John needs you as a support?"

He snorts. "Why the fuck would he want me for support? He was the leader. The hero. His name's at the very fucking beginning of the credits sequence, right when the music kicks in and the screen goes black."

_Still has issues with self-esteem._ Well, you can't be expecting a miracle; he's only been working with you for nine weeks.

"Trauma affects everyone, no exceptions. It's only those who have a stable support system that are able to handle the aftermath with ease. John shared all of his experiences within the game with you very openly. He continues to share them with you now. Clearly he values your input."

"Maybe he's just spouting shit. I mean, what do you even say to someone in rehab?"

"I'll give you a hint. It's not usually pride, or willingly given information about children in the family."

He doesn't know what to say to that; a rare circumstance, you've found. After a long silence you are forced to continue.

"Is there anything in particular that you want to write about that you can't?"

He shifts notably, and you're fairly certain you've struck a nerve. A misstep on your part, and you wince. He's going to shut down now.

"Yeah, there is."

You have to work to keep the surprise out of your face when he answers. Excellent progress, indeed.

"I… fuck." He shifts again, and you are silent. You'll have to tread carefully here.

Another pause, and you worry the cause has been lost. His face is completely impassive, but you make a brief note of the absent-minded scratching he's doing against his knee.

Just as you are about to call him on his nervous tick, he continues. "I want to know about Jade."

"What do you want to know about her?"

"Fucking everything. She… dude, I could wear that fucking douche crown for the rest of my life and I wouldn't… I want to know that she's ok."

"And if she isn't?"

It's harsh, but it's something he needs to hear. Whatever may have happened with his wife, he will need to cope with it when he returns to the real world.

He doesn't know what to do with himself. His stare is vacant, directed at his hands sitting limply in his lap. His shoulders shake, and you gently push the box of tissues towards him. He swats them away halfheartedly, landing them on the rug by his feet.

"I'll need you to stay calm if you want me to continue this session. I hoping you would be well enough to return to your family soon, but if this continues I can't in good conscience condone such actions."

"Wait, seriously? You think I'm okay to go home?"

"If you can answer this question, yes. I will sign a waiver for next week, with some conditions on your return."

"What kind of conditions? If I'm gonna have a creepy ankle bracelet or some shit I'm better off just staying here."

"Nothing of the sort. You will, however, do well with remaining in some form of cognitive-behavioral therapy for as long as your future therapist sees fit. I would also recommend trying out a group." He shifts again, as if to resist scratching, but amazingly he doesn't interrupt. "And of course, I will need to know the answer to this question. What will you do if your wife hasn't recovered?"

He stares at his hands once more, twitching his fingers lightly.

"I… don't know. I'll never fucking forgive myself, that's for shit sure, but what am I actually going to do?"

The tears begin to fall, and he tries a little too hard to laugh them away.

"I'm gonna go to every doctor in the fucking universe until I find someone who can help her."

It's a good answer. Not the best, but certainly better than it would have been a few weeks ago. The simple fact that the focus is on her instead of himself shows miles of improvement. He's not ready to give up yet.

"Well, I certainly can't condone your language, but if you wish to return home I won't stop you. I'll be in contact with your brother soon, as well as some of my colleagues in the area. If you don't continue with your therapy I will certainly hear about it."

"Yeah? And then what?" He smirks a little, wiping at his eyes. It's very, very hard not to smirk back.

"Probably nothing. But I will be oh so disappointed."

"And god forbid we disappoint the shrink. She'll be back to psychoanalyze us all to death."

"Possibly. Or I could possibly deem you mentally unstable and have you sent to your friendly neighborhood psychiatric institute for further examination."

"Whoa now Doc, you don't have to play rough. I'll follow the rules and you can save the cane for someone else."

You fail at keeping the smirk hidden. This was far more interesting than your usual cases, and you suddenly find yourself sad to see it end.

Good luck, Dave Strider. You still have a lot of work to do.

== Jade: collapse

You do. John was nice enough to make dinner, even though all he really knows how to do is boil potatoes. They're filling and tasty enough, and you've decided to take the night off from studying to relax. You've probably earned it.

John mumbles to you about his piano lessons, and Casey swarms you with gold stars, proof of a job well done on last night's homework. You tell her how proud you are, but that you just can't be up for playtime right now. You hurt too much.

There's a book to your side that you want to be looking over. Fertility studies and the breakthroughs in medical technology. You're not very far into it yet, but you want to get back to it soon. Waiting means hoping, and you can't afford that luxury right now.

== Dave: write

You just got off the phone with Dirk, who sounded about as excited as Dirk ever does. Which is to say not at all. You think you might have heard him mutter something about being proud, but for your Bro that might as well have been a welcome home parade.

There's really only one thing left to do.

You flip over the envelope with John's name and address on the front. It's been sitting there for weeks, ready and waiting to be filled with a whole bunch of useless shit that your brain just didn't want to put into words.

That's fine, though. There's only one thing you really need to get across.

_Sup Egbert?_

_I'm coming home._

_-Dave_


	27. Homecoming

Notes from Mama Lobster: Written again by the lovely Brooke Stardust.

Note from Brooke Stardust: (disapproval face.)

* * *

== John: Drive

Are you joking? No, seriously. You must be out of your mind to think that you'd be behind the wheel of a motor vehicle when Dirk Strider is traveling with you. You're not sure that man even has a valid license, but god help you if you think that's going to stop him.

He cuts off several cars, and you clutch at your seat for dear life.

Your nerves do _not_ need this right now.

== Dirk: Get to the airport

What does it look like you're trying to do, go out for an evening drive about town with your not homosexual lover? Fuck off. You are doing your best to get to the airport, thanks. Rush hour traffic into the city is just not helping your situation.

John's yelps aren't helping much either, but at least those you can pretend to ignore. Ignoring the other drivers on the road might cause more problems than it would solve.

You would have left earlier, but you know that waiting in the airport would have been even more of a shit show than this traffic is. Both you and the kid are so on edge right now, if either one of you moved so much as an inch, you'd be falling off with no hope of scrambling back up. Combining that with waiting around for a delayed flight to come in would have been nothing short of a recipe for disaster.

You slam on your horn and curse out the driver in front of you. John just sinks down further in his seat.

== Dave: Land

Everything you have learned in the past few months is threatening to escape with each breath you exhale. You're trying to stay calm, stay in the moment. You slow your breathing down. Close your eyes.

Fuck, you want something in your system so badly right now.

The airplane hits the runway with a jolt and you snap the fuck out of that urge. You can't give up now, not so soon. You just have to get through today. Then tomorrow. You can think about after tomorrow later.

You can't plan too far ahead on these things. One day at a time. This was a line you were forced to repeat until it was drilled into your head like someone discovered oil in your think pan. Black gold. Texas Tea.

Did you really just think of the Beverly Hillbillies? Jegus Christ. Your mind is so all over the place right now, you need to get it back in control. You can do this. Focus, Strider.

The passenger next to you is watching as you mutter your stupid 'one day at a time' mantra over and over to yourself. It takes a few minutes, but your heartbeat finally slows back down. He shifts uncomfortably when he notices that you've caught on to his observations. Serves him right for staring at the freak show without a pass.

The captain comes on over the intercom, disrupting awkward stare off your flight friend has started, and tells you that you've safely arrived at your destination. He reminds everyone to be careful taking things out of the overhead compartments as they may have shifted during the flight, and to be sure not to leave anything behind. Canned as the statement is, it feels oddly poignant and you scratch at your wrist subconsciously.

No. Hold on. Fuck that noise. Nothing is shifting so much as a millimeter in this well packed overhead compartment. You have got this. You are going to get off of this airplane, get out of this airport and get on with your life. You worked too hard and are fucking determined to see this through.

== John: Wait

Really? Waiting is not a thing you want to do ever, let alone right now! It makes you feel useless and antsy and is causing your nerves to work themselves up to the point where every person who walks by is causing your heart to catch in your throat.

So far, it hasn't been him. You're not sure if this is a good thing or not. You're not sure if you're ready.

You glance at Dirk and can tell he's feeling the same way. He hides his feelings better than you do, but even he can't hide how anxious he is right now. While sitting to his side, you can see his eyes darting back and forth between every person. Checking and double checking that they're not the youngest Strider. You feel a little bit comforted by this fact. At least it's not just you.

== Dave: Disembark

You stay in your seat until the entire flight has emptied out. You're not sure you want to go out there and face whoever is standing at the gate. You know you'll have to, eventually at least, but what's the harm in letting everyone go first? It's only polite after all. Besides, they probably all have people waiting for them. You don't even know what you'll find at the end of this tunnel.

What if it's her?

What if it's no one?

What if it's everyone?

You're not sure which answer would be worse.

"Sir?"

The stewardess is leaning over your aisle, looking slightly perturbed. Everyone else has disembarked five minutes ago and they need you to get off the plane. Now. You stand and adjust your jacket, pick up your small mess of newspapers and magazines, shuffle the items in your carry on to put them in order. The stewardess coughs a bit. You're stalling and you both know it.

Right. Time to cut this turd loose. You are like Richard Nixon up in here. And, for once, you're not a crook.

== John: Make a scene

What? You are not going to make a scene. You're just sitting in an airport. Nothing out of the ordinary about that. People sit in airports all the time without scene making and you are going to join their ranks. John Egbert, colonel of the scene-less brigade.

Dave Strider finally enters the terminal and you throw your lack of scene making out the window.

== Dave: Be welcomed back

Your name is Dave Strider and you have just been tackled by one hundred and sixty pounds of pure, un-concentrated John Egbert.

Well, that was not what you were expecting at all.

You can feel his glasses press against you as John buries his face in your chest. He's clinging to you so tightly that you can't tell if the shaking feeling you're experiencing is your own or his radiating out.

"Jesus, Egbert, didn't anyone ever tell you that getting this intimate with a dude is a little bit homosexual?"

"Shut up, asshole," his voice is muffled by your shirt. You adjust your arm a bit and tussle his hair. His grip on you loosens slightly as he glances up. You can tell he's examining for any signs of use. He won't find anything. You've been clean for five months, twelve days, seventeen hours, eight minutes and four seconds now. Whatever he does see, however, he appears to approve of. You've forgotten how absolutely dorky his grin can be. The thought hits you hard. You haven't seen John properly happy in what feels like years.

You hug the shit out of this man, vowing to never make him that upset again.

== Dirk: Drop the coolkid front

Much as you're sure it'd be a nice gesture, you can't do that. There are all sorts of reputations you have to live up to here. Right now your aloofness and bizarre ironic state are all Dave knows and breaking that up would be way too soon, you think.

Despite all that, you still find your pride rising as you watch at Dave. He looks better, more like the man you raised him to be instead of the kid he's been lately. Even as he awkwardly tries to break away from Egbert, you notice his movements are smoother. You briefly wonder if he's been training again.

You continue watching them from a distance. John's got this covered, you're sure. You don't need to get in there and make things weird with a tv sitcom style brotherly hug or shoulder pat. The kid is acting like a puppy who just had his mater return home. Interrupting that would be criminal. Sarah McLaughlan would be on your ass faster than you could say 'sad kitten PETA commercials."

It's not even a thing. Dave knows you're proud of him. No need to make another scene.

== John : Stop making a scene

No. At this moment you do not care what anyone around you is thinking. You'll make a scene so epic that it'll rival Cameron Poe's triumphant return to his loving wife and daughter in the smash hit film Con Air. The music will swell and the camera will go for the long zoom and you will accept the New Alternian Academy Award for best cinematography with the scene you're making.

You'd like to thank your dad, your daughter, and your best bro who just came back from the dead.

Or at least, that's how it feels anyway. Dave is warm and real and _clean_. This is actually your bro, not that shell of Dave the other person was. He's bulked up, filled out, and is actually hugging you back.

You're so happy you could cry.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this isn't the end. That you're not going to get some happily ever after now. There are still things you both need to work through and every day will be a struggle for Dave, but at the moment you just flat out do not give a flying fuck.

This is your best friend and he's finally come back home.


	28. Love Hurts

Notes from Mama Lobster: Someone needs to take away Casey's pasta privileges before she develops a problem. Also, John drinks scotch in honor of his dad.

Thanks to Tonnere, KitsPokePeople, not-exactly-the-truth, and always our mystery guests! Named for Incubus.

* * *

Love Hurts

a.k.a John is not a homosexual

== Dave: miss smoking

Oh fuck yes you do. Cigarettes were the casualties of this mess, the neutral Swiss in your endless mix of dangerous chemical cocktails. But when you give a Dave a cigarette, he's gonna want to shoot dope and massacre his wife. It's just the natural order of things.

It's been 4 months, 13 days, 6 hours and 12 seconds since your last one. It was the very last thing you gave up before closing that chapter in your life.

This new chapter is boring as shit, though. Seriously, there's only so many times you can watch Gurren Lagann with your Bro before you start to lose your mind. What do normal people do for fun, you wonder? The ones who aren't off snorting coke or having 'Nam flashbacks or downing all of their niece's cherry cough syrup in a more desperate attempt to get high.

You could always schedule another meeting with your new therapist, you guess. You see Dr. Anderson 3 times a week as is, but you've been careful as shit to avoid that pesky "group therapy" nonsense he keeps trying to push down your throat. You're just not ready to make an ass of yourself in front of a crowded room yet.

Siiiiiiign.

You suppose normal people have families to go back to, or friends to hang out with. You wrecked all that, though. It's not a thing that's going to happen. Gamzee keeps calling you, but that freak isn't an option anymore. John is too busy with Casey, and probably with picking up the pieces of the fucking sweet, wonderful lady who you decided to break.

Missing them blows. No, really, you'd kill for a chance to have a shitty movie night with the derp siblings. You'd begrudgingly let John pick, and you would resist every urge to tickle Jade, and maybe Casey would crawl into your lap and attempt to be interested in the movie while giving you all the attention you pretend not to love.

You sigh loudly, maybe even dramatically. Even though it hurt, you finally changed your sheets. You had to; it's not fucking healthy to be sniffing her pillow like a lunatic. She deserves so much better than you and you have to let her go.

Maybe you can write something again. Something newer, even shittier than last time. It's been a long fucking time since you've been proud of how abysmally awful your scripts were.

== Dave: answer that goddamn doorbell

Is that really a thing that's happening? You thought it was the TV, which, you realize, is pretty stupid. Considering your Bro only watches anime and the muppets, and neither of those utilize doorbells very often, you're not sure why you ever would have made that assumption.

No, there's a living, breathing person outside your door that wants to visit you. Been a while since that happened. You'd even be happy to listen to those door-to-door Sufferer preachers at this point.

Of course, when it turns out to be John Egbert and not a preachy-pants tightass it's an even better surprise.

== John: love your bro

Your hug is just a little too enthusiastic and you somehow wind up knocking Dave onto the floor. Doesn't matter.

"Hi Dave!"

He's not particularly responsive. Oh shit shit shit shit shit did you trigger him? You know better than to jump him all of a sudden…

"Dude. Get off me. I can't breathe."

Well duh, you probably still weigh twice as much as he does. Whoops. Still, you notice that he looks better, even more so than when he got off the plane. He's glaring at you now, but come on, he should give you a break. You haven't had your bro around for… well, for years, really.

"Oh man, so Casey's with Jane tonight and I thought we could hit the town, you know? Just you and me bro-ing it up. Maybe we could find some pretty ladies to take home with us?"

"Egbert, the best wingman in the world couldn't land you a pretty lady if you don't get off of me. Unless you're trying to go for the gay angle, in which case, you still probably want to try with someone who isn't a known wife-beater."

Ouch. It definitely wasn't the insult that hurt.

"Come on, you can at least try! All you do is sit around this place, it's stupidly depressing. No wonder you ended up on drugs. Seriously, we're going out, get your shit."

Dirk's voice from the living room. "Am I invited?"

"No!" Dave shouts it at the same time you do. Tonight there's some catching up to do.

== John: be out of touch

Goddamn, where do guys go for fun that doesn't involve alcohol or smoking? You and Dave always used to hang out at the bar, with him laughing at you as you failed to handle your scotch and ended up ranting about Rose's indiscretion of the week. But seriously, can you still take Dave to a place like that?

"Goddamn, now you're going to hold your liquor better than me. I can't even touch the shit, you win by default." Dave answers the unspoken question for you, staring you down in that way that says _No arguments. We're doing this. We're making this happen. _Honestly, you weren't all that willing to fight it anyway. You can't afford much besides the bar.

Dave's drink is a gin and tonic, sans gin. He looks at it slightly wistfully, even behind his shades. "Tastes like being eighteen again," he mutters, taking another sip.

"Well, if I remember right eighteen was a pretty awesome year."

"It wasn't bad." Dave laughs lightly to himself. "Wasn't that back when you and Rose pulled that fucking ridiculous senior prank?"

"You remember that? Seriously?"

"Hells yeah. You guys made the front page of my ironic shenanigans newsletter. 'Zoosmell Pooplord and Flighty Broad strike again, plastering the walls of Peixes High School with painstakingly crafted crocheted dicks. Purple and blue crocheted dicks that explode into questionable goop when poked.' Come on, man, why didn't you just stick to ghosts and shit, we didn't need to get Rose's sexy yarn fantasies involved."

"Oh come on, it was funny! You just didn't like it because of puppets."

"Puppets have absolutely nothing to do with this, Egbert. I'm just looking out for the emotional well being of a school full of impressionable young assholes. Let me get you another drink."

You didn't even notice that you had finished your scotch, but sure enough, it's gone. Dave flags down the bartender, jerking his head at your empty glass silently. He always was a bit of a smug ass. You wonder briefly why you're feeling this vague sense of pride.

"So, what are you doing with yourself these days? Is Casey off throwing rocks at cars and smoking oregano yet?"

"Don't even joke, Dave. She's fine. She misses you, though." You pause. All of a sudden you really have to focus to be able to swallow properly.

"I missed her, too" he mutters over the rim of his tonic and lime.

You smile. "Yeah. Sorry we haven't been around."

"Why? You've got no reason to be sorry, you don't owe me shit."

"Um, yeah I do? Dave, you're my best friend, of course I should have come to see you. It sucks that I didn't. You were always there for me."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. You let me talk trash for hours about nothing at all, and you were there the day Casey was born, and I…"

Oh come on. You can't get emotional now, get it together! You try to push down that silly sentimentality…

…yeah, that's not going to happen.

"I didn't know how bad things had gotten. Maybe if I paid more attention, things wouldn't have gotten so messed up. I was so into my own shit, everything with Rose and Kanaya, and being a single dad… man, I suck."

Dave watches you quietly, stoic as ever. You really wish he wasn't so obsessed with being cool sometimes. Then again, it reminds you of the way he used to be.

"John. I fucked up my own life. I fell in with a psycho clown and constantly broke the heart of the only girl who could put up with me, never mind that I used her face like a goddamn speedbag. I let your daughter wander around in a house full of broken glass and used needles, and you're sitting here apologizing to me."

Well, it sounds so awkward when he says it that way. Then something bizarre, rare, and truly glorious happens.

Dave laughs.

"Holy shit dude, you really are the one who's all fucked up."

It takes you a minute to process what just happened. Dave's laughing at you. Dave's _laughing._

And then you can't help but laugh too. Maybe all that scotch is getting to you.

== Dave: watch John drink

Holy shit that kid could never hold his liquor. And god damn does he want more.

This is your third tonic water with lime. If you were actually drinking, you might be starting to feel something about now. As it is you can't help but miss the slight burn that usually goes with the bubbly, sour flavor.

He's still going on about something Casey did in school with macaroni or whatever. Yes, the kid's smart and creative and you love her to death, but JESUS Egbert, shut your damn trap long enough to swallow your drink.

It really is just like old times.

In the midst of John's rambling familial anecdotes you hear something interesting.

"…the trouble she's having with her times tables, but it's ok because Jade's good at…"

Welp. You were this close to forgetting that she lived with him and you could ask him at any moment about how she was doing, and off he goes. Now how are you supposed to go the rest of the conversation without talking about her?

John's still off on his tangents, busy talking about Jade's tutelage and Casey being the best kid in the world. That name is still floating around in your mind, infecting your thoughts. You only have one option for what to say next.

"How's Jade?"

John stops mid ramble. His face is candy red and his eyes are out of focus while he tries to figure out exactly how long he can chug his drink to avoid answering you.

The glass runs out, and he's playing with his empty ring finger now. That's comforting, asshole.

"Jade… she's good. She's back at work now."

Well. That's nice and all, but there's a little more you're interested in. Can she move her fingers or her jaw yet? How do her new teeth look? Is she ever going to forgive- and would he fucking KNOCK IT OFF with the goddamn finger thing shit is so goddamn distracting.

Shit. It's been quiet for too long, and now it's awkward. Everything you didn't want it to be when you had so much catching up to do. Suddenly the isolation of your apartment seems much more appealing.

"Hey Dave?" John's voice is quiet, though it still sounds dumb and drunk.

"Yeah?"

"When she leaves, I'll be around, you know." When she leaves. There it is. Not if, but when. John blinks a bit, swaying in his chair before continuing. "I mean, I'll be there for her too, but I'll still be here. If you need it. I know how bad it sucks."

You absent-mindedly stare at the platinum band still wrapped around your finger. It's been there for years, and all through rehab, and your hand feels really, really wrong as you slip it off. John smiles at you and hiccups, and for a little while he looks like a kid again. You manage a smirk in response.

"Thanks man."


	29. O Green World

Notes from Mama Lobster: Relax, guys, Mama's got you in her crusher claws. And "siiiiign" is the meme-thing! Maybe it only works when Roxy says it... I like it though. I'm keeping it.

Named for the Gorillaz. Someone tell Gamzee to shut up, please.

* * *

O Green World

== Be Jade

You're getting better at being Jade now.

John's teaching isn't exactly patient, but he's betting better at explaining things than he used to be. Something that parenting has brought out in him, you're sure. He's explained to you the difference between a standard and an automatic, and it certainly helps that you're a fast learner. It only takes you a couple of tries before you start speeding around the edge of the parking lot, shifting gears like a pro.

"John, why didn't you tell me how much fun this was!" You giggle a little, noticing John clutch at the passenger's seat handle in panic.

"I kind of figured you would know how to drive by now!" He adjusts his grip on the side door, staring at you as if you have three heads.

You laugh again. "I had _space powers_, John, why would I need to drive? And then there was the bus, and I guess I never really cared enough to learn, but oh my gosh this is so cool!"

Your foot finds the brake a little too abruptly, and John lurches forward in his seat.

"Ugh!" He clutches his stomach, and your grin couldn't be wider. "Jade, I don't think I can do this anymore if you don't slow down. Don't we have an appointment to get you to, anyway?"

It's true, but it's not something you really want to think about. You've been speeding around in the parking lot of Anna L. Vasquez, Attorney at Law, for the past forty-five minutes. In fifteen more, you'll be upstairs in that office discussing the finer points of separating from a man you haven't seen in a year.

Mmmm... nope. You're not done just yet.

You swing the car around in a fast donut, tires the tires screeching almost as loudly as your brother next to you. You roll the window down, letting the breeze take your mass of hair out behind you while you hang your head outside. You can vaguely hear John shouting something about you not being a dog, but the thrill of adrenaline and the wind in your ears drowns him out. It's not until another driver pulls into the parking lot that you actually bother listening to his warnings.

You sigh, shoulders slumping as you pull into the nearest parking space. You're not as neat in the lines as you would have liked, so with a slight bump you pull over the median to the spot on the other side. John practically whimpers beside you.

Throwing the car into park, you lean your head back against your seat. You've never actually been to see a lawyer before, for any reason. You never thought you'd need to. You had your citizenship handled without issue, and you'd gotten so used to handling your disagreements yourself that the whole idea of a court sounded bizarre and foreign.

Well, there was that one advocate who tried to talk you into sending your husband to jail. You refused to ever speak to her again.

In time, John releases from his "oh shit" handle and relaxes enough to unbuckle himself. He keeps glancing at you expectantly. He probably wants you to say something, but you have no idea what.

Minutes pass in silence. It takes some time for you to realize that he wants you to move, and even longer for you to come to terms with the fact that you have to. You will yourself to unbuckle, once, twice, again and again. You count down from three, readying yourself to move. You do nothing.

John runs a hand through his hair; his patience is wearing thin, and you're grateful for his putting up with you all day. It's not been an easy trip for anyone. He meets your eyes, and you manage a slight smile. He hesitates before speaking.

"Are you too sore for this? We can probably go home and reschedule for another day."

"No, I'm not sore. I just…" You turn to stare ahead, looking through the windshield and at your hands on the wheel. You've still got a leaf stuck in John's windshield wipers, and there's a tan line on your finger that just doesn't want to fade. John covers it, squeezing your fingers lightly.

"Seriously, we can go home. No big deal."

You clench your fists around the wheel before releasing them. After one more count to three, you unbuckle yourself and open the door. It's getting to be winter out, and you pull your coat around yourself for comfort.

You kept hoping that this would get easier, and you suppose to some extent it has. So you're not okay with this. So it's not the life you wanted for yourself. So what? You can handle it. You spent your whole life alone. Now you can go home to John and Casey, and have dinner scheduled with Jake on the weekends.

So what if you're not going to be a wife and a mom. You can do this. You have to do this.

You wipe your eyes once before taking John's hand and dragging him inside the building.

== Be Gamzee

Brothers and sisters, sinners and messiahs, allow me to extend to you my greatest of motherfuckin' apologies! I promised you a motherfuckin' show, and a motherfuckin' show you shall receive. Our players are back in center stage. Our Knight's all actin' like he's fixed all that clockwork rustin' in his motherfuckin' thinkpan, and it creaks and it sings and sometimes it might even motherfuckin' tick, but we know, brothers and sisters, we know it can never keep the time.

The feral child doesn't know. That girl with all her animal senses will never know her little motherfuckin' Scarecrow is back and missin' her touch. And that motherfucker could never stand without her to hold him right the fuck up. He's not like you and me, brothers and sisters. His motherfuckin' knees have been cut since birth and he's always needed somethin' else to walk for him. Little bitch won't do it this time. That motherfuckin' poker-faced guardian can't even hold his own motherfuckin' self. Windy boy tries, we know how that motherfucker does. But, brothers and sisters, you know he doesn't have the motherfuckin' understanding. He can't handle the motherfuckin' stress.

No, it will be my chemical sponsors who lift him once again, to carry him to the motherfuckin' stars and beyond.

Sure, he's left our carnival for now, pushin' and pullin' and shovin' his rusted pieces together with everyone else's, hopin' that one day they can build a motherfuckin' workin' machine. One by one the motherfuckin' pieces drop, crackin' under pressure or finally collapsing into dust. The Knight, the motherfuckin' Scarecrow stays for a while, pretending he's a part of their motherfuckin' universe, but the pieces just ain't gonna fit. He's kept his goddamn self all locked up for too motherfuckin' long, and believe me, brothers and sisters, his thinkpan ain't gonna be able to handle no motherfuckin' sunlight. And who will be there to collect the burnin' ash but your dear messiahs themselves.

BOTH OF THEM.

The girl will go and then he will be ours.

AND THEN HE WILL BE MOTHERFUCKING OURS.

:o)


	30. Your Ex-Lover is Dead

Notes from Mama Lobster: Written again by the lovely Brooke Stardust.

* * *

Your Ex Lover is Dead

== Dave: Drink the piss water

You have no idea why John insists on making coffee so much lately. He was never a big coffee drinker, and neither were you.

He says it comforts him in a weird way. You tell him it tastes like piss and, if that's what he finds comforting, he's really got to stop pretending he's Bear Grylls. There are many things you can deal with in this bromance, but pee is not one of them.

John hits your shoulder and snorts as he laughs. You use this opportunity to dump your coffee into his mug and grab the juice from his fridge.

This whole thing feels very normal, you think. Before you came back, you'd never have thought you'd be able to sit at the counter in John's kitchen and shoot the shit like this. Now that you're here, it feels like there's nothing else you could do, even if you tried.

== Jade: Go home

You really wish you didn't have to, but your stomach's been a bit off since last night. Your brother is great, and living with him has been fantastic, but his cooking skills leave much to be desired.

Your boss notices that you've been a bit less on the ball than usual and tells you not to worry and to take the afternoon off. As much as you love working again, you're glad that you can go home and maybe lie down. It's just a stomach bug and you'll be better in the morning.

It's not until you reach the front door that you realize you forgot your keys. John's car is in the driveway though, and he knows you're forgetful with these things. You'll just have to ring.

== John: Hear the doorbell.

You hear it, and you can tell them to go to hell right about now. You've got a hand full of coffee, a mouth full of laughter, and a head full of stories.

Dave doesn't look like he's gonna do anything about it either, so you just pinch the bridge of your nose and hope the troll girl scouts have better luck at the next house. Their cookies are pretty disgusting anyway.

== Jade: Get frustrated

Seriously, you know he's in there. Is he really willing to let you freeze and puke out here just because he's too lazy to get the door?

Something awful rises in your stomach, and you nearly double over and let it out right there. You slam the doorbell a couple more times, hoping that the universe will have enough mercy to let you get to a bottle of pepto bismol.

== John: Get frustrated

It's hard not to be. You don't know what's going on, but apparently someone isn't about to let up. You roll your eyes and Dave smirks, letting out a dull laugh.

"Shouldn't the kids be in school around now?"

You scoff. "Guess not."

He pushes his shades further up the bridge of his nose. "I've got this one. Trust me." You're not quite sure what he might have planned to harass whatever poor asshole is slamming on your doorbell right now, and you don't particularly want to find out. With a heavy sigh, you take his glass and wander off to the kitchen.

You hear a shriek, and you can't get back into the living room fast enough.

== Be Dave

Nope. Nope nope nope. You do _not _want to be Dave right now. You want to be anyone but Dave.

== Be Jade

Oh no.

_Oh nooooooo.._

Where is John? You really need John right now. You need anyone in the world other than the person you are looking at right now. Shit.

This… This is very much _not_ what you expected.

Your stomach flips and your fear has you frozen in place. You're sick, you remember vaguely, and you needed something for that. More than anything you need to not be here. You need to be somewhere safe where no one is going to judge you for puking and crying at the same time and very, very loudly. He looks as shocked as you do, probably convinced that he had a few hours with his bro before you got home from work.

Surprise?

John rushes to the door and you watch his internal debate play out, almost comical in it's delayed reactions. You can see the paperwork behind him, stacked neatly and waiting for the signature of one estranged spouse.

The moment seems to freeze completely, and not one of you has any idea of what to do.

== Dave: Notice everything

You do. There is not a single thing that gets past you. If you're just going to stand there, you might as well take in as much as you can.

You notice that she's covered in dirt from the nursery, that her skin is brighter than it used to be, that she's wearing her rounded glasses again. She seems to be recovering well and you're relieved.

You also notice that she's gotten her replacement teeth, that she is clutching her stomach, and that the mobility of her fingers seems limited.

John is fidgeting around in the corner of your eye. The poor kid has no clue what proper protocol for this situation would be, and, frankly, neither do you.

== Jade: Be sick

You knew that John had been having Dave over. You two had discussed it and had planned things so that he was never in the house at the same time as you. Your brother even had a calendar set up on the fridge to let you know when it would probably be a good idea to call before you head home.

The knot in your stomach tightens and you cover your mouth. There is no way to tell if it's because of the man standing three feet from you or because of last night's meal. You suspect that it's a combination of both.

You almost catch his eye and another wave of sickness hits you hard. You refuse to look at him as you rush past to get to the bathroom.

== Be Dave

Jade is leaving. Shit. _Shit. _You don't want her to go yet. There is so much you have to tell her. You want to apologize. You want to tell her that you're sorry, that you've changed. That she can hate you all she wants but you'll never stop loving her.

You don't know what on earth is that possesses you to reach out, but you do. Your hand brushes against her wrist and you know the moment you touch her that you made a mistake. You don't deserve to have her listen to you or even acknowledge that you exist.

But she does. She very much knows that you're there. The fear in her eyes as she yelps and recoils from you is enough to make you wish you'd stayed across the country with Dr. Ford.

She is gone in seconds and you're left staring at John, hoping he'll somehow have the answers. He looks like someone just took Zillyhoo to his face.

Somewhere in the kitchen, John's phone starts ringing. The stupid love song is widely inappropriate for the moment, but at least it gives you something else to focus on.

== John: Regret cooking

Your daughter is sick. The school nurse is informing you that she's somehow contracted a stomach bug and go home to lie down. That must explain why Jade is home early too. This wouldn't be a problem if you weren't just supervising the potential start of world war four in your entryway.

You hesitate. "I need to pick up Ca-"

"I've got this." Dave is grabbing his keys before you can finish your sentence. You stare at each him with wide eyes as you watch his car head down the driveway. The moment he's is out of your sight, you grab a can of ginger ale and poke your head in the bathroom.

Jade is sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. She looks like death warmed over as you sit next to her, rubbing her back as she sips at the soda. She's still for a long time, staring into the toilet water with her face pulled into a grimace. She stumbles over her next words, barely meeting your eyes.

"He looks better," she says finally and you nod in agreement. She leans into your side, and you wrap her in the gentlest hug you can manage.

== Dave : Abscond

There is nothing you would rather do in this moment than abscond like a fucking Dersite spy who arrived in the middle of the Prospit central square without a bulletproof vest on.

Casey Egbert has the absolute fucking best timing in the world, you think as you help her walk down to your car. She leans heavily against you, clutching her stomach. If she weren't coming home early because she was sick, you'd be buying that kid the biggest ice cream sundae that you could find. Cherries and sprinkles and syrup and maybe graham cracker bits all up in this shit.

You're the worst sweet tooth influence ever, and rehab hasn't helped your case. It is a wonder John trusts you with his kid. A slightly twisted wonder, but a wonder nonetheless. Funny how he doesn't trust you with his strong and independent sister, but you couldn't blame him for that if you tried.

Not like you would trust yourself either.


	31. Satellite

Notes from Mama Lobster: ...

Named for BT.

* * *

**Satellite**

== Jade: contact

The first time she calls she panics and hangs up. His voice sounds calm on the phone, but she can't even return his greeting. No, she needs more time for this.

* * *

== Jade: contact

When she calls again, it takes time. He's patient. He never expected to hear from her directly, and even the sound of her breathing on the other line is welcome.

They don't talk. She says goodbye quietly. He would never even think of asking her to stay on the line.

Maybe pesterchum would have been a better option.

* * *

== Jade: contact

She hesitates to call again, reciting what she's going to say in her mind. He's been around here and there, she knows, and John's been to see him a lot more than he's letting on. It's going to be fine, she repeats it in a mantra.

The papers in front of her look very finite and clinical, as does the emerald wedding ring lying on top of them. She doesn't need to have a lawyer with her to meet with him, she thinks. If he's really as ok as John says, they can handle this like adults.

* * *

== Dave and Jade: separate

He picks an open, busy diner where he knows she will feel comfortable. Dirk sits tables away, respecting the kids' privacy, but still insisting on being close enough to supervise.

She's late, and he checks his phone. He wouldn't blame her if she lost her nerve. His only messages are from Gamzee, and are quickly deleted.

When she finally arrives, she's all business, armed with a briefcase and a shapeless armored turtleneck hiding as much of her body as it can. She still looks beautiful to him.

She gets an herbal tea with too much sugar, nursing it quietly as she pushes the papers in front of him. He can't focus very well past the sight of her lips on the edge of the cup, and pushes his shades further up the bridge of his nose. Saying goodbye is much harder for him when she is so close he could physically touch her.

It's quiet, awkward, and more than a little sad. Their life up until now, just over five years of love and partnership all ordered into a list of belongings and assets divided between two names. She wonders if there wasn't a more humane way to handle this, or if maybe she should have left it to the lawyers after all.

Her hands are trembling more than she anticipated, and the cup slips from between her fingers to shatter on the tile below. The noise echoes as a few patrons nearby cheer and clap in sarcastic time. He freezes. She holds her breath. He bites his lip and inhales deeply, holding the air in his lungs even as his face remains at an impasse.

An exhale. He confesses that he needs a moment. The noise set him off, and he's having trouble with unwanted memories. She doesn't know what to say to this, so she waits, studying the lines in his face as they tense and slowly relax. His tight-lipped stoicism gives way to relief in a moment's time, and with a faint smirk he returns to his half-assed examination of the divorce papers in front of him.

In a moment of confusion, relief, and weakness, she leans across the small table and kisses him. Before he even has time to react, she's gone.

* * *

== Dave: contact

He knows it's wrong. He knows she should be leaving and moving on with her life, finding someone better to spend her time with. Even so, the feeling of her lips on his is haunting.

He begs all the forces in the universe for her voicemail, counting the rings with baited breath. It seems the universe owes him a little of good luck, and her cheerful voice recording instructs him on what to do next.

* * *

== Jade: listen

She checks her phone over her lunch break, hoping to hear news on Casey's first piano recital. The missed call list shows a number she hasn't seen in a long, long time, one that she never quite had the heart to delete.

There's a message for her.

Five words are all it takes, and she listens to them religiously. Who knows how her body manages to contain the warm pressure spreading from her heart to her fingertips, or how she manages to stand with her stomach ready to turn itself inside out. She plays the message again, and again, and again, until her supervisor yells for her to get back to work.

"Jade… thank you for everything."

* * *

== Jade: wait

She doesn't want to. She's waited long enough, and it's time to take action. She shoves the stack of ominous paperwork into her bag, and without a plan or purpose she returns to the apartment she once called home.

Honestly, who does he think he is?

* * *

== Jade: ?

She doesn't bother knocking when she enters. The spare key hasn't been moved in the year she was gone, and letting herself in feels natural and familiar.

He's tapping lightly into a holographic keyboard when she enters the living room, no doubt working on some abysmal script. He sees her enter and everything stops. He can only stand to greet her.

She's dirty from work and he's still in pajamas, shades folded neatly by the bed. Together they are completely absurd. He only has time to think on this for a moment before her lips are on his with a fierce desperation.

It's a blur of fire and need and tangled limbs as he pushes her roughly back into a wall, pressing against her and savoring the feel of her chest on his. His hands find the firm flesh of her stomach under her shirt and she moans and gasps softly into his mouth. She bites into his lips as he lifts her, and neither one has so much as a thought of protest as he carries her to the bed.

* * *

== Jade: regret

The new sheets are wonderful. Thread count off the charts, she is sure of it; they feel as if they were sewn from air. Yet even as she feels the silky cool comfort against her bare skin she couldn't hope to sleep.

He breathes lightly next to her, having collapsed spent after a long night together. She eyes him as he sleeps; he certainly gave her his all. Rehabilitation has been kind to his strength and stamina.

Yet still she is tense. Even as the last reserves of pleasure release from her toes and fingertips the panic sets in. He's only a few inches away from her, and clearly back to peak physical condition. Unpleasant memories creep in uninvited, and she tenses against the lush fabric. He turns, and the way his hand brushes her thigh makes her want to cry with fear.

The last time she felt those hands on her they were around her throat. She saw his eyes burn with rage even as the world swam around her, the broken trust mixing with the pain of broken ribs. The panic she felt when she couldn't breathe, the panic she feels as her breath catches in her throat now.

He's sleeping next to her, but at any moment he could wake and end her life. His hand is so close and so fast.

Hours pass and sleep will not come.

* * *

== Dave: be domestic

From the moment he wakes he knows she hasn't slept. Her eyes are bleary, and the book she's holding is nearly done. She tries to hide it, to smile and enjoy the moment. Still, the way she recoils from his kiss is enough to tie his stomach in knots.

He makes breakfast, or attempts to. The pancakes are burned and the tea is weak, but she smiles and eats every bite. He wants so badly to see her shoulders ease and her hands stop shaking, but there is nothing he can do when he is the problem.

When she leaves he doesn't know what to do. He wants to kiss her, because it may be his last chance. He also doesn't want to kiss her, because if he allows himself to hope and she goes, it will crush him.

In the end, she takes his hand and squeezes.

* * *

== Dave: wait

It's two weeks before he hears from her again. She calls late at night, and he begins to wonder if this is what their relationship will become.

She only breathes on the other line, though. She doesn't ask to come over, and in fact barely speaks at all. He hears a sniffle and a sharp inhale before the line goes dead.

* * *

== Dave: wait

Another week passes, and he begins to feel the sting. It was foolish to hope, and he can't handle the fallout. The itch returns in force and he has to increase his therapy sessions to cope. Gamzee calls twice, even stopping by the apartment to say hello. He politely slams the door in his face.

On the TV that night one of the characters references her husband, a wonderful and supportive influence in her life. He remembers all the times that his wife cleaned his wounds and held him while he shook, and somehow the itch increases. The pain in his heart is searing.

That night she is waiting for him, sitting nervously on a couch that once belonged to her. His instinct is to rush to her, to lift her and hold her tight and make love to her over and over. He resists.

She doesn't have the papers with her, and he thinks this must be a good sign. It is. She takes his hand in hers and kisses it gently. She never lets go of his hand as she stands and leads him to the bedroom.

He doesn't know what to think.

* * *

== Jade: rest

It takes an hour and a half, but she eventually can relax. Her night is sometimes plagued with dreams of pain and fear, with his hands laced tightly around her neck.

* * *

== Jade: wake

He is all around her when she wakes, and for a brief moment she is afraid again. Still, the sunlight is streaming in through the blinds and his heart is beating softly against her shoulders, his breath warm and slightly foul in her ear. In a moment like this it's hard to be afraid. He's strong and huge, but gentle, and she is cocooned within him.

There are papers somewhere that she knows she should be worried about. A ring that her hand feels slightly off without. He tightens his grip around her middle and the slight jolt of panic causes her to forget.

Little does she know that he is awake as well, and he can feel her tense against his chest. He refuses to allow his guilt to pollute the feeling of warmth and normalcy, one that he savors with every second that passes. Surely enough she relaxes into him in a few moments time, and sleep finds her again.

* * *

== Jade: work

She returns to work, conveniently forgetting her phone next to the bedside. Oh well, looks like she's going to have to stop by.

* * *

== Dave: make love

He doesn't, not that night. She's tired and aching and is really just ready to collapse into a giant tub of ice cream. He's more than willing to oblige, seeing just how wonderfully cute she looks when she's overwhelmed by the comfortable fabric of his shirt. Somewhere in between her yelling at the evening news and his sardonic commentary on a lame sitcom she finds herself yawning.

She's asleep on his shoulder before midnight, and he carries her gently to the bed. She sleeps calmly and dreamlessly through the night.

* * *

== Dave: remix

He spends the whole day composing, suddenly inspired by the giddy feeling lingering from a morning embrace and ready to create something slightly less shitty than usual. It's been a long time since he's felt the vinyl scratch beneath his fingertips, and somehow the beats flow more naturally than ever. The line of the bass thumps deeply in his chest, matching the exciting racing of his heart and pushing his hands to find a melody to match. Today he can feel the music again. Maybe he should call John and they can jam.

There's a jacket that smells of gardenias nestled in the corner of the couch, and he pauses to smile at it. He hasn't felt this good in a long time.

She comes home from work early that night, dropping her bag onto the cushy new armchair near the door before heading straight for the shower. He smiles. For the first time in a while, he's confident that she'll be back.


	32. I'm a Realist

Notes from Mama Lobster: I'm a realist. I'm a romantic. I'm an indecisive piece of shit.

Named for The Cribs. Yeah.

* * *

I'm a Realist

== Jade: discuss

You have no idea how someone could mess up hot chocolate, but there it is. Watery, burned, and awkwardly salty. Dirk can't cook for shit. You wonder briefly if this is a Strider family trait, passed from generation to generation like a crooked nose or cystic acne.

_At least the marshmallows are tasty. _You smile and take another sip.

Dirk is sitting across from you, looking impassive. You're not sure why he called you here, but you have a vague idea. He makes another offhand comment about how much better you look. You grin wide, showing off your shiny new teeth.

"I can pop them out if you want to take a look!" Dirk says no. Weird. Usually he would jump at the chance to examine your false body parts.

"So…" Dirk's voice means business. You smile and put down the steaming hot cup of nasty, waiting for him to continue.

"What are you doing?" He asks. His mouth is stuck in one perfectly straight line.

There's a vague question if you ever heard one.

"Well, I was gonna go to John's and help Casey with her homework, but right now I'm drinking your awful cocoa. Seriously, Dirk…"

"Don't fuck with me, Harley."

His glasses are high on his nose, you notice. It looks like his eyes are on you, but you can't be sure. The real question hangs between you, clouding the air and squeezing at your lungs.

You know the answer, you think.

"I'm going home. I have to help him. He's getting better, but he needs all the support he can get."

Dirk watches, stoic as ever. It's awkward, so you just keep talking.

"I thought you'd be happy for my help. I don't want you dealing with all this alone."

He's still silent. You can see how tight Dirk's lips have become. It's almost as if he needs time to chew the words before he can say them.

"I don't want your help." He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

_Excuse me?! _

"It doesn't matter if you want it or not, my husband needs me and I am not going to let him—"

"Why do you still call him your husband?"

"What the fuck, Dirk?"

You stand as Dirk sits, immune to the fact that you are currently trying to will his eyebrows to catch fire. You are practically snarling at him from across the table. The benefits of being raised by a dog, you suppose.

"I call him my husband because he is. Last time I checked those papers weren't signed!"

A breath passes and your frustration builds.

Why can't you see past his glasses? This isn't making any sense, not that Dirk usually does. Your brother-in-law has always been sort of an enigma to you, hiding behind shades and puppets and awkward attempts at irony. I mean, sure, you love him and all. You just never have any idea what the hell he thinks he is doing.

== Dirk: discuss

She's pissed at you, you know. Good. Maybe if you piss her off enough, she'll learn what's good and fucking right in this world.

…Nope, that was a good dream while it lasted. She's defensive now. What a stubborn girl she is. You almost want to laugh at the way her nostrils flare at you, if this was a time for laughing.

You laugh anyway.

Well shit, Dirk, that wasn't smooth. You can't help it, though. Most people would be offended, but she seems almost relieved. You take her awkward smile as a sign to continue.

"Calm down, kid. I know you care about him." She seems to be ok with that, or at the very least she looks less like she's gonna murder you.

Let's try a different approach to thi- shit, she's adjusting her teeth. You don't want to think about how she looked on the floor with her teeth all scattered everywhere, bleeding and why the fuck would she think you want to look at her fake teeth?

She's tense again. Your discomfort must have shown. Keep it the fuck together, Strider, you have a job to do here.

== Jade: misunderstand

If Dirk has ever been a more confusing presence in your life, you really can't remember when. He's laughing, he's rude, he's pissed, you don't know. The weirdest thing about it is that he seems so _serious._

_He's trying to get rid of me_.

You try to shake off that thought before it settles, but there it is. Lingering. Poisoning the conversation and making you worry that you've offended the elder Strider somehow.

== Dirk: say it you dumbass

You're not good at just saying things. That's always been too obvious, and there's too much fun to be found in making people dance for your approval.

_This is not the fucking time. Just fucking talk you stupid, useless excuse for a guardian._

She's not gonna get it unless you suck it up and tell her, now you have to grow some balls.

Inhale. Hold it in. Hold it until it fucking hurts.

"I can't do it every time."

== Jade: listen

Okay, that really didn't help at all.

"You… can't do what?"

Dirk sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I can't be there. You know. At the apartment. I can't be there all the time. I can try, but I'm no goddamn homebody. I got shit to do."

"I know you can't, that's why I have to be there. I can't leave him alone when he's still so ready to relapse."

"Yeah, well, what if it's not him I'm worried about."

…_What?_

The silence that follows is like a sledgehammer to your state of mind. That… is not what you expected to hear.

"Harley, look, I can't be there to supervise forever. I can't pull him off you every time and frankly I don't really fucking want to. I can't deal with that again."

You and Dirk never really got to talking after everything happened, and you always thought that was because he was too worried about Dave to think about you. Maybe… maybe you misunderstood even more than you thought.

You don't want to hope this is the case, and yet you do. Dirk continues.

"I can't… you need to look out for yourself, kid. He's not well. I know he's my brother, but he's fucked in the head. I can't let you..."

He swallows and pushes his shades further up his nose.

_Dumb Strider boys. _You giggle.

"I can't let you get hurt because of him, not again. No bullshit, my fucking head can't take coming home to you all fucked up on the carpet again. So you better know what you're doing before you get all cozy on his couch and shit. I mean, what if I'm not even there next time? He could fucking kill you, did you ever think about that? Even if he never lays a goddamn finger on you again, are you really ok with spending the rest of your life on high fucking alert for trigger warnings?"

He's pacing the room now.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe you'll end up being 50 years old and worn to shit and you'll get tired of holding his hand? What if he ends up using again? What the fuck are you gonna do then, kid?"

Silence. Dirk collapses back into his chair, running his hands through his hair again as he hunches over the table. You still can't see his eyes. Time for you to be brave.

== Dirk: show your hand

No one in their right mind has ever taken your shades off you without your permission, so what the hell is this little girl doing?

Fuck, it's bright in here.

She's smiling at you, her teeth glinting in the sunlight. Fucking teeth. Fucking Jade Harley being all cool and shit while you're trying to intimidate her. She folds your shades all dainty-like and puts them in front of you.

You have half a mind to shove them on your face and be out the door before anyone's the wiser. This particular flavor of bullshit is not your forte.

== Jade: take control

This is almost too mind-blowingly sweet for you to even handle right now. Oh my god you have never seen Dirk look so upset. And it's all for you. Is this what having a big brother feels like? You briefly envy Dave for being able to grow up with someone like Dirk looking out for him.

His eyes are so angry and sad, even as he ducks your gaze. The warm little fuzzies in your stomach almost make you feel guilty; you must have put him through so much shit. He's just so _worried._

It's not like you aren't worried, too. Decisions like these aren't the sort of thing you take lightly; you are far from stupid. Of course Dave could hurt you again. Of course it's foolish to walk back into this alone and expect it to be easy. You are not thick enough to think things will be sunshine and rainbows, like when you were young.

But you want to believe in him. It's all you have left. You can be the optimist again, when no one else is.

Dirk's hand is calloused and huge, you realize. Yours looks so meek on top of it. He is so surprised by the contact he nearly jumps out of his skin.

== Dirk: look up

You don't really want to look up, and so you don't. Why would you want to watch her cry and tell you how wrong you are and wait what?

Why are her hands on yours?

She's smiling at you. Is she dumb? Does she get what you just said?

She opens her mouth. "Yeah. All that could happen. All that and worse."

Ok, the kid is definitely stupid. Borderline retarded. "So why do you look like I just gave you a motherfucking pony?"

"Because I didn't know you cared."

Wait, seriously? Of course you care. You'd care if your brother beat up some random stranger on the street, and you sure as fuck care if he kills this goddamn sweet chick who's been standing by his side all this time. You know, being all supportive and shit.

_Being everything you wish you could be for him_.

It's true. You don't really want to think about how much worse Dave might have been without her help. You owe her so much, and you love her for that.

You love her enough to make shit sure she doesn't do it anymore.

"Thank you, Dirk"

Shit. She can see your eyes, and she's holding your hand tighter than ever. Seriously, is there something wrong with her? Brain damage?

"I get it. Don't think I don't know how dumb this is, and don't think it doesn't scare me shitless. But he's getting treatment. He knows he needs help and he's getting it. He's making the right steps, and I have to believe he's going to be ok because it doesn't seem like anyone else does. Dave does well when people trust him, you know."

You scoff. Little asshole has to earn that trust first.

She looks at you like she knows.

"He earned my trust when he spent those first two months clean. He earns it more every time he goes to therapy without a fight."

It's true, you begrudgingly have to admit it. Kid is serious this time. He doesn't want to hurt anyone anymore, and he wants the nightmares to stop. He never meant to hurt her.

_Never meant to and never will again are different things._

And yet somehow, when you look at Harley, you can't help but want to trust her. She and the little man were good together for a long time; that much was pretty goddamn obvious. He misses her terribly, and she's apparently got her mind set on being borderline retarded.

Ugh. Crazy women.

"If I can't stop you at least promise to look out for yourself. Come find me at the first sign of trouble." Your voice sounds detached, or at least you really fucking hope it does.

"I will!" She looks so goddamn stupidly happy.

Without thinking you turn your hand over and thread your fingers with hers. They are still small. Fragile. They would break pretty easily if Dave were ever to snap again.

You sigh and put your shades back on. She finishes her hot chocolate with a smile.


	33. I Want Your Sister to Be My Girlfriend

Notes from Mama Lobster: Every once in a while, when the planets align and the cephalopods will it to be so, I like to write things that aren't misery inducing.

We have 6 chapters left, and I'm taking bets on the ending. Of course I already know the ending, so the odds are not exactly great. There might be a new project in the sidelines, though :)

Love you all, new followers and old.

Named for Reel Big Fish.

* * *

I Want Your Sister to Be My Girlfriend

== John, Jade, Dave: have movie night at the Egbert's

They're all snuggly and shit on the couch again. She's got her head on his shoulder, tucked oh so carefully into the crook of his neck. She's practically in his lap with her legs draped over him that way, and the way his arms are wrapped around her waist is borderline possessive. She giggles at some stupid line in the movie, and he smirks into her hair.

They look perfect together, like a happy little family. It's enough to make you sick. Honestly, John and Jade really need to quit it with the PDA.

She laces his fingers with her own, and you're pretty sure there's some line in the incest handbook that says this sort of shit ain't normal. Fucking snuggly Egbert-Harley's, all tangled up on the couch while you sit over there in the corner macking on some goddamn throw pillows. Not that your situation has anything to do with it. Not at all. You're clearly just upset that siblings are being so fucking gross all over each other while you have to watch. It's selfless concern for their safety and their emotional health.

John shifts his legs a little, and Jade scoots further up into his lap. Away from you. And they're taking the whole goddamn blanket on top of everything else.

"A-HEM." your noise is anything but subtle. Good. John jumps, knocking Jade's head out of place.

"Do you assholes mind lending me some of the blanket you seem to be conspicuously hogging? It's like a fucking polar bear ate an iceberg and shit it out over here. Fucking penguins huddling in the Antarctic with Morgan Freeman reading my eulogy for staying out of the pack."

"Sorry Dave!" Stupid, oblivious John and that shit eating grin. "I can get another blanket from the closet if you want."

No, that is not what you fucking want. You want the goddamn derp twins to push over and let you in on their magnificent little snuggle fest or whatever wonder is going on under their veil of secrecy. Blanket of secrecy. Whatever, fuck it. You genuinely are cold anyway.

"Screw you guys. I'll get it myself." You're already halfway up when you hear her.

"Daaaaave!" shit. The whine is cute and she knows it. You look at her again, pouting with her teeth clamped firmly on her lower lip. "What'd we do?"

You sigh.

"It's nothing, really. Clearly I'm on the rag or something. Withdrawals and shit."

The last bit hurts her, and she shifts away from John. You try to quell the giddy feeling rising in your stomach as his face falls. Schadenfreude's a bitch.

"Dave? Are you ok? Do we need to go home?" The giddiness quickly turns to guilt. Shit, now they're all worried and the truth is you feel fucking fine, you just want…

What exactly do you want?

"Don't go Uncle Dave!" thank gog. The silence is broken as a small weight barrels into your midsection with the force of a goddamn meteoric meltdown. Casey's been hiding on the stairs the whole time, and badly. Of course Egbert would be oblivious to the idea that his perfect little angel would _ever_ sneak out of bed.

"Casey, it's so far past your bedtime! We're taking you back to your room this instant!" John's on his feet, working to pry off the vice that's currently doing an excellent job of bifurcating your torso. The vice will have none of that, and neither will her Uncle Dave.

"Not cool Egbert. You trying to take away every cuddle partner I might get?" John's brow furrows.

"You can't honestly expect me to let her stay up past nine just because you're cold. She's going to be a mess tomorrow."

"It's not because I'm cold you douche. Sometimes a guy just needs company." Casey nods furiously against your hipbone. Kid's got your back, and you give her a fist bump for it. She giggles.

John knows when he's been defeated and sighs, dramatically flopping over and hanging his head. "Casey, why must you betray me so?"

She laughs, running to hug her dad before moving to settle in on the couch. You hurry to take your place next to her. Finally. If Egbert gets your wife on movie night, at least you get his daughter.

Wait a minute.

She's scooting over.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

And Casey piles in on top of John and Jade with a vague "oof," leaving about two feet of space between you and the orgy of familial love. She smiles at you from a distance, burrowing into John's hoodie as she goes.

"Casey, not you too?" You mime a knife through the heart, falling back into the couch while miming gushing blood. John sticks his tongue out at you. What is he, five?

"Uncle Dave, you have to earn cuddles! That's what Daddy says, anyway." Jade nods in agreement, petting Casey's hair lightly.

"So, what, do I have to go quest or some shi…itake mushrooms? Do I save the princess and get rewarded with 50 cuddle points to be redeemed at the location of my choosing?"

Casey giggles. "Nah! It's family time." Ouch. _Ouch. _Even John looks concerned after that. Jade's biting her lip again, reaching for your hand across the gap. "It just means you have to prove you're not scary anymore."

Casey smiles in that naïve little kid way, the one where they have no idea what the fuck they just said actually meant. You're not family anymore, but you can be. That's the gist of it. It still kind of stings, but… well, it's only fair. You're making up for lost time here.

Even so…

"Fine. Whatever. You kids enjoy your creepy love fest over here. Me and the pillows can build the most awesome of forts on our own."

Casey takes the bait. "Pillow forts?"

You smirk. "Yeah. Fu…dging pillow castles maybe. There's gonna be a spiral staircase in the middle and everything."

She moves towards you tentatively. "But only on this side?" She draws a line on the couch.

"That's right. It's just for the cool people on the left." And with that you get to work, lifting pillows here and there, arranging a wall between you and the derpy kids.

"No no no Dave I want to play! Let me in!" Jade laughs while John rolls his eyes in exasperation, trying and failing to hide a smile. Taking down one pillow, you can see your niece climbing excitedly up and over to settle in your lap. She reaches for the throw pillow behind you, putting it firmly on your head.

"Now you're the roof!"

…well, it's not exactly what you wanted. Your wife is still over there getting her cling on with Incest McCuddlepants, and you are the roof. Casey settles into your lap and rests her head against your shoulder. "Don't move," she insists before relaxing into your chest.

Your phone buzzes lightly in your coat pocket, and Casey frowns when you reach for it.

"Roofs don't move, Uncle Dave." she insists, grabbing the phone and waving it in your face. Shit, it's Gamzee. You thought you had blocked his number a while ago. Maybe if you tell him to fuck off he'll finally take the hint. You answer with a heavy eye roll for Casey's benefit.

"I'm the roof, bro. Roofs can't talk. Don't call again." You hang up so quickly he doesn't have time to get a word in. With that done you chuck the phone to the side, sending the battery skidding across the floor while you continue watching the movie. Casey seems freaking ecstatic about your response, practically beaming up at you from the little throne she's built for herself.

"This is the best fort, Uncle Dave."

At least someone is enjoying themselves. Sure, it's not your ideal situation, but it's passable. Maybe in time the other side of the couch will want to join you.


	34. Winter

Notes from Mama Lobster: Sorry for the hiatus. I recently learned that if you are going to write a stupidly long fanfiction, you should probably keep track of all your chapters in some organized fashion. They tend to escape otherwise...

Happy Christmas everyone. Named for Tori Amos

* * *

Winter

_You fight more viciously that you ever have before. You vow to rest his head on platter fashioned from the rest of his bones. You would never understand. She is alone and afraid. She is beyond anyone's help now._

== Dave: Wake

The panic is starting to cease, as Dave is finally able to get air into his lungs after 47 seconds of dry heaving and wails. His eyes are burning and his chest is tight, but he is safe and home again, and he needs to get his bearings.

Dave doesn't wake in fear so often anymore, but tonight is different. Tonight he remembers.

_What do you remember?_

He knows it is a memory. He knows it is a lost timeline, he can smell and feel and sense everything just like he can with every other memory, and it haunts him. He would be used to this by now, except this is not a memory he has ever had before.

And holy fuck does he wish he never had it.

He needs to find Jade.

_Jade is huddled in a spring, her knees curled into her chest to shield her body from view. You try your hardest to pretend you don't notice, because you just don't know what to do. Her dress is soaked and she is shaking so violently. It's too hot for her in there, but she doesn't care._

Dave feels the bed next to him before remembering that Jade doesn't stay there every night. He needs a phone. He needs to find her right the fuck now before he starts looking for Gamzee.

_She keeps scratching through the thin fabric of her shirt. You try to hold her still, but she pleads for you to let her go. She needs to be clean of this, and the hot water is never enough. Even as the blood clings to her fingernails she continues._

_You can't watch. You can't do anything at all. You retreat to Lohac and cover your eyes to hide._

Dave's legs give out beneath him as he tries to get out of bed. He doesn't have time for this, where the fuck is his phone?

In 1.9 seconds he is steady on his feet. The nausea is still there, and he briefly wonders if he's going to retch again. The blood in his veins screams for chemical relief and he bites his tongue to hold it back.

_John and Rose are at a loss. The game never prepared them for this, and being brave and fighting on is not enough. The timeline is set for success. Jade still plays, and plays well. That's not the problem. _

_The problem is how she jumps when they talk to her, how her eyes go blank when she's with them and they know she's somewhere else. You still believe that as long as she is alive that she can pull herself together, she'll recover and they will be able to carry on as a team. _

_Rose doesn't seem as sure._

The phone is on his bedside table, and he scrambles for it in desperation. He doesn't want to remember any more, but he can't stop without Jade here.

Right on cue another wave of craving hits. He wants a line so badly it hurts. He has to keep those nails down; he knows he can't get started. If he starts scratching now he won't be able to stop. He's clean, he remembers. He has to stay that way or she won't talk to him. He has to be there for her this time.

_Noir is upon them without warning, and John and Rose are far away on quests of their own. You can do this, though. Noir won't hurt Jade. You can duck behind her, using her as a shield, and you put up one hell of a fight. Together, you might have been a match for him._

_Noir likes to fight dirty, though. _

Dave fumbles with the phone, dialing in the darkness. The bright, digital clock blinks at him mockingly. If he couldn't control time, then Jade…

Maybe there's still some oxy in the cupboard. Shit, no. He feels like crying from frustration, but no tears will come.

_He isn't hurting her, not physically. You are pinned under the weight of your own broken bones, and Noir has forsaken you. Noir has better plans, though you cry with a broken voice for him to listen._

_He trails a claw down her face, wiping away her tears. She begs for him to remember who he is, that he loves her, that once she trusted him above all others. She begs him not to break that trust._

_He doesn't listen._

_You shout once more for him to finish the job himself, but he doesn't care. She promises that there's nothing he can do to make it worse._

_There's nothing else he needs to do. His existence, his fake compassion, his mocking nuzzle to her as he forces her to shoot you is enough._

He hears Jade's ringtone from somewhere in the apartment. Is that good or bad? She's close, maybe. He runs towards the noise, falling for .7 seconds as he struggles to get his knees under control.

_She wants to sleep next to you that night, and after weeks of her silence and isolation, you are thrilled. She even lets you hold her, sighing gently into the sheets. She's warm against your skin, and all you can think of is how close you are to the girl who always seemed so far away. She smiles as she curls up by your side, and you could almost laugh you are so happy._

Jade is on the couch, covered in a blanket. He's so fucking happy, he doesn't know what the fuck he would do if he couldn't find her right exactly the fuck now. With trembling fingers he touches her lips, her hair, her hands. She's ok. She's dreaming of something wonderful, he hopes, listening to her even breath. He loves how warm she is.

_There is dead weight on you when you wake in the morning. Icy, cold, dead weight. Jade is still and frozen solid, a smile etched on her face. You don't need to see the toxic bottle in her hands to know what she has done._

_You don't care how well it was going. You can't do this timeline anymore._

* * *

== Be Dave

In therapy, you learn a lot of new words. "Repressed memory" is one you hear a lot. A memory that is so unhealthy that your mind rejects it. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Jade woke in the night and was afraid for you when really you should have been afraid for her. She had been through so much, and in her lowest moment you couldn't even see that she needed help.

You thought she was fucking HAPPY. You child.

She wrote you a note full of all kinds of sappy nonsense, how she loved you all along and you shouldn't blame yourself, she just blah blah blah. You failed her. You let her get hurt again and again and again, you hurt her yourself, and every time you just ran away and let her deal with her problems on her own.

She looks so happy to see you when you get home, but all you can see is her face as Noir took her hands. A blank face, tear stained and bruised … fuck, you were all just kids. Small and shaken and so very, very vulnerable.

You don't deserve to have her smile at you.

She doesn't know what happened, because it never did for her. But it did happen. You know it happened. Somewhere Jade is still dead, and you absconded from that timeline like the coward that you were. John and Rose were left to fade off, and you couldn't even bring yourself to cope with your failures.

You are disgusted with yourself. What else haven't you noticed? What makes you think that you ever knew anything about her, or about being a good partner and a supportive husband?

This Jade doesn't understand, but you know that she doesn't need to. She should never, ever have to and you will die a thousand times over to make sure she never will again.

But it's you who doesn't understand. You know this, deep down. You could always help her fight, you could help her if she died or found herself doomed. She doesn't need your help to fight, though. She can save herself. She needs you to hear her, and that's something that, in all the years you have been married, you've never done.

You can never understand what happened to that version of Jade. She's lost. She's out of your reach, and all the questions you should have asked, everything you should have known, are all gone. All you can do is make it up to another girl with slightly better luck.

_Repressed memory_ you think. _A memory so unhealthy your mind rejects it._

Your mind is a coward, just like the rest of you.


	35. The Gauntlet

Notes from Mama Lobster: Thank you all for reading. Tonnere, not-exactly-the-truth, and everyone else, your feedback always brightens our day :)

And to our mystery guest... first of all, thank you! I hope your holidays were pretty badass as well. Second, there is a story for that timeline, and it was once written out in full, but I am a firm believer that trauma is not a good plot device unless there's sufficient reason and consequence for it. In the end, that chapter didn't make the cut. If you're interested, message me and I can give you a summary, or a copy of the original chapter.

Named for Dropkick Murphys.

* * *

The Gauntlet

== Dirk: find Dave

He's kind of hard to miss, sitting on the couch shaking like a goddamn epileptic. It's been a long time since you've seen him this messed up. Maybe he's just cold? It's hard to tell behind those shades. No, you're pretty sure he's messed up.

"Kid, uh…" _you okay? _"Did you eat anything yet?"

He doesn't look at you, and sure as hell doesn't answer. Well… fuck. You don't know if your damn hairline can handle it if he goes back into hibernation mode or whatever he's been doing the past few years. Only thing to do is check this shit out.

You look in all the usual places, checking for any sign of powder or needles or fucking spray paint, anything the kid could be using, when a hoarse voice echoes from the living room.

"You're wasting your time, there's nothing there." Dave's voice is quieter than you want it to be. Shit shit shit at least if he was using you could just kick his ass.

Dave wanders into the bedroom, stumbling and kind of aimless, but sober. Kid looks pathetic. You clear your throat, trying to pretend you aren't shoudler-deep in his sheets digging around for coke. Course, it's not like you care if it's awkward while he's looking like a kicked puppy. Yup. Not caring at all.

"So how about that food?" Dave's poker face is pretty busted, but he manages to keep his tone even. Somehow that just makes this whole situation even more fucked up.

== Dirk: get pizza

You were tempted to grab a beer, too, but you decided you weren't that shitty of an older brother. At the very least you could try to pretend to be sensitive and helpful and all that crap you're terrible at.

He's still not talking. Not that he's usually chatty or anything, but this is fucked up in a different sense. He's limp and shaken and clearly freaking the fuck out about something or other.

_Ask him what it is, you ignorant fuckass._

No, that would make SENSE. Why would you ever want to approach your brother in a logical and thoughtful fashion? God damn do you hate yourself in this moment.

The familiar scrape of paper and plastic cups on the counter serves to enhance the tension. Isn't his pretty waifu supposed to be getting home soon? She could fix this, little wonder that she is. That look of his is really getting under your skin and you wish she could just snap him out of it.

"Jade's helping Casey with her homework tonight." Glad he knows you better than you know him. That's not the way it's supposed to work with guardians, you're pretty sure of it.

_Holy fucking shit just talk to him._

When did your inner monologue get such a goddamn shit attitude? Seriously, you have to beat that thing into shape. Of course, you probably should be more worried that you even have an inner monologue, and that your grown-ass kid is clearly about to start bawling and you don't have even the slightest idea what the fuck happened.

He's holding it in for you, you know that much. The kid is worried about showing weakness in front of you, and you don't know whether you should be proud or pissed or relieved. Relieved, maybe, since you aren't great with tears and blubbering and you really hate to see this kid get upset. Still, the tightness in your chest doesn't feel very much like relief.

You know it's gonna happen before it does, there's no way he could hold anything steady right now. He drops the glass, and soda spills all over the kitchen. He jumps. Kid is so fucking jumpy today, and he can't even seem to keep his hands steady as he runs for the paper towels.

"Dude, chill. I got it." At least this is something you can do. You take the paper towels from him and start mopping. He just stands there in shock.

Fuck fuck fuck he's gonna break. It's coming, you know it's coming what the fuck do you do now. He's quiet, really fucking quiet and for a second it looks like his shaking stopped too.

It starts slowly, hissing and boiling and bubbling over into agonized growls and sobs, with his nails clawing at the fabric on his shoulders, then hands gripping the sides of his head, yanking his hair. Shit looks fucking painful. Un-pry his fingers, that's your first step. If he rips all his hair out he's gonna be pissed when he snaps out of this. You have to get him by the shoulders next, figure out what's wrong. How do you even ask something like that?

_Words. Use your words, Dirk._

"What's going on?" there's genuine concern in your voice. It sounds so fucking foreign that you almost want check a mirror.

_Holy shit did you just…?_

Yeah, you did, and Dave looks almost as shocked as you feel.

"I-I'm just fucked up, withdrawals and shit, you know…"

"Bullshit." You're on a roll now. "You've had withdrawals for months and you never look like you got dumped at the prom about it. What the fuck is going on?"

Dave stares into the soda puddle some more. It's spreading up your nice jeans. Well, shit, that's gonna be uncomfortable when you stand up.

"I… she died, Bro."

Yeah, that doesn't sound quite right. "Are you sure you're not high, kid? No one died."

"Fucking duh," He spits. "It wasn't here, not really. Well, yeah, really. It happened. In the game, you know."

Flashbacks. Fuck this poor kid's life, and fuck you for giving it to him. "Shit's not your fault. That game kills people."

"No, not this time."

Holy fucking shit could this dumb asshole make any less sense right now. "You're gonna have to break this down for me, little man. I'm not following."

And then he's sobbing, and what the fuck is even happening. His hands are in his hair and you have to pry them out again, hold him still, tell him to just shut his goddamn mouth and explain to you what happened. Somehow he just pulls harder, jerking away from your touch. Everything you try just makes it worse.

It's more out of desperation than anything, yanking him into your arms, holding him tight and steady against your chest. It's still a few seconds before he calms down, but he does calm down. Well fuck, if you knew it was this simple maybe you would have tried this more often. He hiccups a bit, gasping and shuddering before he finally goes still.

"Bro…"

"Yeah, kid?"

"…get off. I can't breathe."

That's what relief feels like; you can recognize the sweeping feeling of pressure lifting off your chest. You would laugh if it were appropriate. This time you manage to hold it in.

The story he tells you next is enough to make your head spin. Some alternate timeline where Jade, sweet little waifu Jade, got left alone with some massive furry psychopath and couldn't handle the aftermath. He goes on about cowardice, about failing her and leaving John and Rose to fade away, but fucking seriously, you have no idea how the hell anyone could react differently in that situation.

"…and the worst part is it fucking _happened_, even if no one else remembers it still happened. She was fucking dead, right there under my goddamn blanket, and I could have helped her-"

"Kid, listen." You don't even know where this is coming from now. The sickness in your stomach, the shaking of your little brother, the thought of some psychotic dog tormenting a bunch of thirteen-year-olds have all kind of left your mind on a goddamn tilt-a-whirl of what the fuck. "You can't blame yourself for this. You just can't. It's fucking hard to know what to do when shit things happen, and shit things happen a lot. You just—" that fucking lump in your throat makes it hard to talk. "…You just do the best you can and hope it's enough. Sometimes it isn't."

Dave's really, really still against your shoulder, and slowly you realize he's listening to you. He hasn't listened to you like this since he was a child and you were the hero.

"Sometimes shit just sucks in a way we can't handle. We can't be awesome all the time, and sometimes our weaknesses are really fucking glaring at just the wrong moment. And it's times like that that suck the most, but that doesn't mean you didn't love her, or that you didn't try absolutely every goddamn thing you could in order to make it better. And I bet she knew that. She fucking loves you more than I've seen a broad love anyone."

You can feel him grin into your shoulder. You hope the way you're rubbing his back is comforting and not just creepy and dumb.

"And kid... it's not like she even remembers this shit anymore, but you're still pissed that she was hurt. You big sap."

_I'm so fucking proud of you for that._

A smirk creeps onto your face. "Now quit blubbering and go be a sensitive spouse on someone else's shirt." Dave chuckles at the last bit, pulling away from your shoulder.

"Fuck, Bro, where'd that come from?" His voice is louder now. Good.

"Don't ask questions. Go pick a movie or something, and wash your goddamn face. You look like you're having a fucking allergic reaction."

Dave's smirk is a little more knowing than you're comfortable with. He does what you tell him to anyway. Time to get up… oh fuck, gross. The soda in your pants is even more uncomfortable than you anticipated.

== Dirk: decompress

It's easy to do, watching a fucking horrific action movie with your bro and taking cheap shots at the bad acting and plot holes. Never mind the credits blasting the Strider name to shit as the movie ends. It'd be fucking embarrassing if it hadn't paid for your TV in the first place.

More sitcoms come and go, and Dave even goes so far as to offer to get you a beer. Like you'd ever let him wander into a liquor store unattended, doesn't matter how much you miss the taste.

Jade doesn't get home until late, at which point she's exhausted and frustrated and seemingly covered in glitter paste. That Egbert kid better watch her back next time, Jade looks about ready to rip the universe apart. You try to look away as Dave gently takes off her coat and kisses her hair. He doesn't stand too close, and lets her take the first steps towards him before going in for the full nasty makeout. Kid's really turned his shit around, despite your best efforts to screw him up.

_So. Fucking. Proud._

She prances off to the bathroom with a quick "Hi Dirk!" and you know your bro is soon to follow. He hesitates for a second, though, staring at the door Jade just left through. A moment passes like that, with the sitcom blaring and Dave looking silently off into the hallway. You just drink your soda.

"You know, Bro," Dave's quiet voice is startling, but not enough to get at you. Ninja reflexes and all. "You should listen to your own advice sometimes."

And just like that, he's off after Jade.

That choking feeling starting in your throat is so unfamiliar, you wonder for a moment if you're dying. Then there's that burning behind your eyes, and suddenly the TV is a lot harder to see. Fuck.

It's not as bad as your dad told you it would be. Really. It doesn't hurt like you thought it would. In fact, the relief that spills out with the salty tears is almost relaxing, and you find yourself laughing through it somehow. Shit is pretty fucking ok after all.


	36. Please My Favorite Don't Be Sad

Notes from Mama Lobster: Hey guys. You know what this chapter has? Porn. You know what this chapter didn't need? Porn. Deal with it. *shades*

But for real, hope you all enjoy. You guys have been wonderful as usual.

Named for the World/Inferno Friendship Society

* * *

Please My Favorite Don't Be Sad

== Dave: evolve

The room is bright when you enter; she only keeps her reading light going when she's really serious about something. Of course, the sounds of her grumbling frustration give away the seriousness far more than the lighting. She's ready to cry, weeks of studies and notes crumpled uselessly by her feet. She buries her hands in her bangs, growling as she slams her elbows down on the desk. It would be almost alarming to see if it wasn't so oddly charming.

"Aaaaaagh I'm so sick of these stupid goddamn troll plants! I have no idea where to even start!"

She bites her lip and crumples the paper in front of her, tossing it down to join her collection. You manage to catch her hand before she returns to her pen, and she growls.

"Easy, girl. Don't make me get the newspaper." Her nose scrunches at you in disdain, still slightly red from the day outside. She yanks her hand back, glaring at you through thick-rimmed glasses. Something else is amiss here, and you're not about to let her wallow on her own. You fucking know better than that now.

"Talk to me. I'm not the goddamn psychic here, I can't get all up in your business with my goddamn ouija board. If I'm not allowed to keep secrets what makes you think you're the special snowflake?"

She looks wounded, and you can't really blame her. That didn't come out quite like you wanted. Take her hand again, maybe that would help.

"Your boy toy is here. Use me." Your voice is gentle this time, and you know the double entendre is cute. Apparently she does too, and she smiles through the bitterness. It's a start.

Her fingers graze your arm lightly, and her weak smile fades again. Eye level is less intimidating, that's what they said in therapy, and so you sink to your knees to meet her. The feeling of her palm pressing into your skin is kind of nice, and you cover her hand with your own.

"Talk to me, Jade."

She bites her lip again. Goddamn, that is the exact opposite of what you wanted. You were hoping she would open her mouth and make some words or something, not seal it shut with her damn rabbit teeth.

And then she sniffles. Oh shit, that's really not what you wanted in the fucking slightest. Your throat is suspiciously tight.

"Whoa whoa whoa back it up, it's no good if you get the waterworks going before we even figure out where the rain's coming from." she sniffles again and the panic starts setting in. Suddenly you are very, very aware of how little comforting you've done for Jade, how rare it is for you to notice that she was hurting. Crap, what would John do?

Without really thinking you grab her and pull her tight against your chest. She squeaks.

"D-Dave, what are you-"

"I don't know. Helping?"

She laughs, hiccupping through a sniffle. "Not really. You're kind of pokey and I can't breathe all that well."

You attempt to cover your chuckle with a cough, releasing her slightly to brush her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry. I'm getting used to this all over again. Shit's not exactly like riding a bike for those of us with emotional retardation."

She laughs again. Good, this is closer to what you wanted.

"Alright, so now that we've built up this wonderful emotional rapport can we please figure out what this whole eye leaking thing you've got going on is? I'm pretty sure freaky troll plants aren't really that upsetting." You brush a thumb under her eye, clearing out the remaining tears in what you hope is a comforting way. She's still smiling, so you're probably doing something right?

She opens her mouth and you shut up to listen.

"I guess… well, you have to promise you won't be upset first."

"Jade, we're sitting here in our brand-fucking-new apartment, my turntables are completely intact in the next room, and you're here next to me, so I'm pretty damn set right now. Go for it."

She fidgets, sniffling once more. "Dave, I really want to be a mom."

If she wanted to knock the air out of you she could have just borrowed John's hammer. You just got out of rehab last year, fuck if a kid is really what this situation needs.

"Well then… no one says you can't be but is now really the right time? I mean, we're still getting our shit together and all. We don't need to get all Egbertian about this. And you can hit me if I'm being insensitive, but is parenting really a reason for all this?"

And then she bursts into tears. Fuck, you are SO BAD at this listening thing.

"Jade fuck I'm sorry, really, I am, holy shit what is even happening please don't cry…"

But she only sobs harder, wiping at her face furiously in a futile attempt to hide her tears. She's still talking, sort of. It just sounds like a mess.

"I can't… broken… was dying… never able…"

Shit. You pat her back awkwardly and she takes the invitation, leaning her forehead against you and soaking your shirt through with tears. _Oh Jade_.

"Jade, we can have kids when we're both ready. I promise. It'll happen."

"But it won't!" The wetness on your shoulder begins to spread, and your heart feels sick. "Dave, I can't."

And then you get a better look at the books over her shoulder. There are no plants involved. None. Instead, there are a lot of anatomical diagrams and a picture of an unborn baby.

Oh shit.

"Three treatments later and there's nothing, Dave. The doctors said no. I keep trying but it's not going to change. I can't do it." She swallows and sobs again, and oh shit how in the hells do you make this better?

"I really wanted a f-family." She shudders, and you try to rub her back. "It was so lonely."

Lonely is the word that does it. You've been married for years and she's still lonely because you've been too caught up in your own shit to be there for her. Fuck if you'll let it happen again.

"You have a family. Do you have any idea how many guys were beating down my door for a chance to defend you? Besides… I mean, you're not exactly winning the lottery here, but you have me. And I promise to never fuck it up for you again."

She cries still, quietly gasping yet hysterical in a way you've never really seen, and all you can do is rub her back and let her. She shakes and convulses, barely able to draw in air, and every once in a while she moans low in a way that makes your eyes sting with empathy.

Time passes and your shirt is beyond ruined, but she finally seems to be spent. Her breath comes in quiet gasps, and she snakes her arms up behind your back, grasping at you for comfort. You're at a loss. All you can do is hold her tighter.

"We're gonna be ok, you and me."

She hiccups again. "Even if it's just you and me?"

"It's never gonna be just you and me. John and Rose would be pretty pissed if we left them out of the picture."

She relaxes into you, her fingers finding your hair and tangling in it. In time, her breathing evens, warm, soft and comforting against your neck.

"Jade? You gonna be ok?"

She mumbles something indecipherable into your skin, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you closer.

"Yeah, didn't quite get that. One more time?"

She lifts her head weakly and looks at you with bleary eyes. "I need a tissue."

Before you can stop her, she has her face buried in your already ruined t-shirt, blowing like a foghorn into the fabric. Fucking nasty, Strider-Harley!

She looks back up, wiping at her eyes again with a light smile on her face. It's all you can do to remove the soggy piece of shit from your person and dry her eyes with it. You put it on her red nose again, instructing her to blow. She giggles and obeys, and you have to throw the rag down as soon as she's done. That's garbage now.

"So, uh… now are you okay? Do you want to talk some more?"

"I… well, talking isn't going to fix it. It's just the way things are now."

"Sure, but… fuck, I don't know. This fucking sucks. What happened, do the doctors know?"

"Um…" She's hesitant, but transparent. Her tongue absently shifts against her false teeth, adjusting them with a slight clacking noise. Her gaze is almost guilty and her hands shift uncomfortably before settling on her stomach. It doesn't take long for you to put two and two together.

_Fuck you, Strider. What a massive, blundering fuck-up you are._

You wrap her in your arms, holding her close once again.

"I'm so sorry. Jegus fucking Christ I am so sorry, Jade." She shifts against you uncomfortably, putting some distance between you. She might as well have just stabbed you in the face; it probably would have hurt less.

You hate yourself in this moment. You wonder how you ever thought you could have changed, how you ever could have made up for the shitty things you've done. Some scars don't heal, and you've left a metric fuckton of them all over her. She's silent, still, and refuses to meet your eyes. In a moment of weak, self-loathing agony, you wonder where you might find that beer bro was itching for.

And then she sniffles, and you remember that this is _not about you_.

You dry her eyes again, waiting until you see the slightest hint of a smile to go in for the cheek kiss. She relaxes, slowly, into your touch, and strangely enough you find this easing your self-loathing almost as quickly as cocaine.

"Are you okay with it?" She mumbles the question into the palm of your hand.

"Wait, what?"

"Not having kids. Are you okay with it?"

She raises her head to look you in the eyes, again, searching for something. _Are_ you ok with it? It's not something you had really considered, to be honest. You're not exactly in a good place to be responsible for a whole other life, to make the understatement of the century. Sure it's a little sad that it's entirely out of the picture, and sure the idea of teaching a cute little kid that looks like Jade how to use a sword is pretty enticing, but still.

"I'm not okay with you being miserable, but yeah, I'm pretty okay." And it's true. You have your life back, and you have her. Anything else is superfluous.

She smiles weakly, hand playing at the back of your neck. You kiss her forehead, reaching to shut the book still lying open behind her.

"I guess I will be, too." She murmurs it so quietly that you can barely hear her, but you are so, so glad that you did.

You did it, Strider. Achievement unlocked: be a goddamn decent human being.

* * *

== Dave: love

She's asleep on the shoulder of your clean, snot-free shirt. Her novel is folded open, resting gently on her lap, and the batteries on her reading light are fading fast. Your next script is pretty fucking decent, surprisingly. At least you hope it is. She'll read it when she wakes up in the morning, and she'll tell you. Poor girl's drained from being generally shit on by the universe.

Well, shit on by the universe and the crappy dude she married. That lucky son of a bitch sure dumped her with the short end of the stick.

She sighs and mumbles to herself, twitching slightly. Fucking adorable.

When you go to pick her up, it's so unbelievably gentle. You honestly didn't know you could move so smoothly. She nestles into your chest as you move to carry her to the bed.

== Dave: tuck her in

You were just about the smoothest motherfucker in the world right there, but that doesn't stop Jade from being an incredibly light sleeper.

"Dave?" she mumbles slightly, linking her arms behind your neck when you try to lay her down. Crap, girlfriend is strong.

"Shh. Go back to sleep."

"No. You come too." Jade's smile is sleepy, but her eyes are gaining focus. Her fingers are toying with your hair in a not-entirely-unpleasant manner.

"I gotta write. I'll be in soon, I promise." She tightens her grip, sliding a hand down your chest to grab at your collar.

"Bed." There's no nonsense in her tone.

"Harley, I have to-" she shuts you up with fervor, biting into your lips before sliding her tongue against them gently. It's over for you as she rakes her fingers down your back, sending shivers up your spine.

The skin on her neck is feather soft under your fingertips, your hands gentle and reverent and holy fuck you don't know how you ever got so lucky as to be back here. You've hurt and neglected this girl and the least you can fucking do to start making up for it is make her happy tonight.

She's frantic to your gentle, pushing hard against you with her chest and her hands and her teeth. She needs to be closer, and you're more than willing to oblige. Her mouth opens into yours, whining with need as your hand finds it's way over her knee, savoring the smooth, sun-kissed skin. Her skirt is loose enough to provide very little resistance, and she pants heavily into your mouth as you grace your fingers lightly against her inner thigh.

She leans into your shoulder, tense and shaking as your fingers meet the edges of her underwear. She's not patient tonight, she needs to be close, and it's all you can do to maintain control as she grinds down into your hand. A slight wetness spreads against your fingers and you find breathing significantly more difficult.

It doesn't take much effort to push her panties aside and slide against the wet skin underneath, ever gentle. The way she gasps, the blush that spreads across her cheeks, the lust in her eyes as she silently begs for your touch… it's so fucking beautiful. Her throat is open and wonderful and making all those tempting noises and you really can't help but press your lips against it. She murmurs your name as you slide a single finger inside her, and you want that to be the last thing you hear before you die.

Her fingers fist in your hair, hard enough to hurt when you curl that finger inside. You stroke gently at first, then building speed with every breath she takes. It takes some time to get familiar with what she likes again, but you don't mind moving slowly. Move to the side, and she gasps. Curl into the front, and she'll throw her head back in pleasure. Circle your tongue against her clit, and she arches against the bed, whimpering your name. You can feel every shudder against your mouth, salty-sweet liquid on your tongue, and when she comes her lips part in the hottest fucking moan you can remember hearing.

You want to hear it again. You don't want to be gentle anymore. You want her to feel you, deep inside, in her body, her mind, and her heart. You want to be in her so badly it starts to ache. You lick your fingers clean as she sits up to meet you.

The zipper of her sundress is a challenge in the dim reading light, and she keeps moving, tugging your shirt and scratching your back in a clumsy attempt to remove your clothing. She succeeds first, tugging the shirt over your head before meeting your mouth in a passionate kiss. The dress is easier now with her pressed against you; you can unzip it and slide it off her shoulders without much effort. She moans your name again, and the hot ache below your stomach rises.

You're not alone. Jade pushes you to the bed, tugging your pants to your ankles with ease. She's there, beautiful and naked with nothing between you, she's so close, and then she's on you and your mind goes blank.

"A-ah!" Her cry is sharp as she takes you inside, and you can hear the hiss of your exhale. She's warm and tight and everything fucking good and wonderful in the world. All you have time to register is the feel of her smooth hips under your hands before she's grinding you. She gasps loudly, scratching at your chest for balance as she moves you in and out, her stomach arching and falling gracefully in time with her movement. She cries your name once more, and that is the end of your restraint.

With her hips in your hands, you begin to move with her, gaining speed, rhythm forgotten in favor of raw need for this beautiful woman in front of you.

"You are so fucking amazing."

You need her. You need MORE of her, the wet, beautiful friction as she wraps around you and the half-lidded eyes that beg to be closer to you still. Her hand finds yours, threading her fingers together with your own and squeezing tight enough to anchor you in this moment.

"and I love you so fucking much."

She lunges forward, her cries muffled against your neck as you move her hips against yours, looking only for a release to the heat building, collecting in every nerve in your body.

"Jade."

"Nn-ahh!" She collapses against you when she comes, shuddering and shaking and still crying to be closer. She draws back and you reach to move the sweaty hair clinging to her face, you have to see her, you have to be looking into her eyes so she can know how absolutely fucking insane she drives you with need.

And the shudders of her body bring you to the edge, your vision fading as the overwhelming heat reaches your fingertips and toes, spilling out into her and releasing a wave of pleasure that arches you from neck to hips. She's sweaty and spent on top of you and the feel of her breath is warm, soft, and so perfect. She is perfect, and this moment is just about as fucking perfect as anything you could have imagined in your crazy drug comas. The smell of sex and gardenias is overwhelming and beautiful, easing you gently into the afterglow.

She rolls to the side, collapsing into the pillows next to you with a hand still on your chest. She's a mess of heavy breathing and half-lidded eyes, swollen lips and flushed skin. Her hair clings to her face, and she smiles when you reach to brush it away. The batteries on her reading light have long since faded, leaving her skin kissed blue by the stars and moon. Her green eyes are so bright when they meet yours; bright and beautiful and startling in their complete transparency. Mrs. Strider. Mr. Harley. It all makes too much fucking sense.

With sudden warmth in your stomach, you realize this is what it means to be happy.

* * *

== Jade: sleep

You could if you wanted to, and that thought alone is really comforting. Nightmares haven't haunted you in weeks. Still, you fight a losing battle with consciousness as you watch Dave fade into sleep.

His lashes are long and pale in the dim light, his face flushed but calm. Full, too. No more of those sharp lines and gaunt angles from before. His arms are stronger and his hair shining again, shoulders broad and heavy from a regained interest in swordplay. Lines trace his brow and the corners of his mouth that weren't there before, not when you were young and still drunk on the power of being gods. Lines relaxed with sex and sleep maybe, but lines nonetheless.

You reach to brush the hair out of his face, noticing the way it flutters with each exhale. This man, who was once a danger to you and everyone around you, who ruined your chances of ever having a proper family… how could you ever have ended up back here?

Your fingers reach over your belly absently, tracing your lower abdomen. Ouch. They can still be a little stiff sometimes. Some scars don't heal, you're very well aware of that. Yet somehow that seems like a worry for past you to deal with. The person who hurt you is gone. You left him, and you started again with someone very, very new. Someone who just happens to have the same face and name and freckled shoulders, but is battling every day to be the best person he can be.

He smiles and sighs in his sleep, shifting his hand slightly. You take it, enjoying the feeling of his calloused fingers against your own. He loves you, you love him, and for now that is more than enough.


	37. Awake My Soul

Notes from Mama Lobster: 2.

Named for Mumford and Sons

* * *

Awake My Soul

== Dave: have a feelings jam

If you didn't know better you might think you were in a kindergarten classroom. The walls are sterile and white except for the stupidly cliché motivational posters plastering the outside. Folding chairs squeak against the cheap linoleum as their occupants shift nervously within them. Honestly, you'd probably feel fucking superior to all of this ridiculous nonsense if you weren't feeling like a kindergarten student yourself. A kindergarten student in a tie and aviators maybe, but a kindergarten student nonetheless.

Yeah, you'd never admit it, but you're nervous as shit. Talking to a group of people in this asbestos-hazard excuse for a room is just slightly fucking different from talking to Dr. Ford in a private office by the beach. A few stragglers filter in here and there, pulling out new seats from the stack folded against the wall. The circle keeps getting bigger. Shit. Bigger means more people to listen to you whine about your problems.

It's ten minutes and seven seconds after the meeting is supposed to start that the councilor actually starts speaking. "Hi everybody, welcome to our group. First of all, I just want to make sure that everyone is here for the PTSD counseling session?"

You're debating speaking up. This can't possibly be the right place for you, not here in this rank-ass basement surrounded by restless people who keep stealing glances at you and then whispering to each other. Then again, speaking up is running away, and you're not out to be pulling that shit anymore. You have to at least try. What would you say to Casey?

"Good. I see we have some newcomers today, so why don't we go around the circle and introduce ourselves." Motherfucking kindergarten, you swear, all taught by some tool who reminds you uncomfortably of a different Vantas, one who happens to be more insufferable than Karkat.

And sure enough, the kids step in line and introduce themselves to the crowd, some more reluctantly than others. There's an older man, Art, tattooed and gruff, like something out of a 1950's sailor stereotype. Next to him is Mayura, a middle-aged troll woman with her knees propped at exact right angles by a stack of books she's brought with her. There's Katherine, an elegant but aging woman draped in a shawl, her lips bright red and hair perfectly styled. Kurt is maybe 15, curly haired and heavy set and looking like he really, really wants to disappear. Two girls, Brooke and Elena, sit close together. Brooke is bright and pale with fashionably pink hair while Elena is muted and earthy in a flowing sundress. Last is Garuda, a troll with sharp teal eyes, slightly younger than you by the looks of it. He eyes you suspiciously before standing to introduce himself.

Suddenly all the eyes in the room are on you. Shit shit shit. You're really fucking thankful for your shades about now.

"Name's Dave." You grumble it lower than you probably should, but really, if these assholes care as much as they claim to they'll listen for it.

"…Dave Strider? Like the director?" Mayura is suddenly fascinated, adjusting her thick spectacles. Yes, spectacles. "Glasses" doesn't even begin to cover the ridiculousness of the eyewear blowing her olive eyes to absurd proportions. Binoculars would probably be even more accurate.

"Not really, but sort of." Good luck to anyone who wants you to elaborate on that. You're playing nice, but that's about as far as you're willing to go. An excited murmur washes over the room, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck start to rise. Art scowls at you. Fucking movies and fucking celebrities and what the fuck are you doing here, really?

They're talking about their issues, and you listen like the polite little douchebag you are. Katherine speaks of the traumatic death of her parents and loss of her home, and the way she was passed from foster family to foster family. Mayura lives in constant guilt and fear after murdering her moirail's matesprit in self-defense. Kurt sometimes presses an ice cube to his forehead to help cope with memories of his father. Art can't be around fireworks because it reminds him of gunfire, and the time he spent in the New Alternian riots. Brooke's self-loathing has gotten the better of her, and she knows how dangerous stopping to think can be. Elena trusts no one and fears everyone, having been betrayed and abused one too many times. Only Garuda refuses to speak.

And weirdly enough, it's all you. All of it. It makes sense in some weird way, these nightmares, the flashbacks, Art's panic at the sound of gunfire or ticking clocks or the cracking noise of porcelain. It all makes more sense than you'd like to admit.

Still, the circle stalls on you and Garuda, the only two who haven't voiced their whole sad lives for the group yet. Great. Wonderful. Where do you even begin with this shit?

Garuda clears his throat first, drawing the focus of the group. You could hug the dude if he didn't look like he might cut your head off.

"It's not like any of you assholes are gonna care anyway, but why the fuck not. You guys can't tell anyone about this shit right?"

The councilor is unfazed as ever. "Of course not, this circle is built on trust." You can't help but snort, and the two girls try to muffle laughter from the corner. It's a pretty goddamn dumb phrase, how do people actually say this shit with a straight face?

The corners of Garuda's mouth twitch. "I watched my brother die."

All humor in the room is gone and your blood runs cold.

"Trolls aren't supposed to feel any affection for the people we're raised with, I know that. The hive is meant to breed competition only, raise us to be stronger. But I did… I pitied him. Or something. Fuck, I don't know."

He pauses to swallow, and you have to lean back. Funny how you didn't even realize how far forward in your chair you were leaning until just then.

"Anyway, he died, and all I ever fucking think about is everything I never said. That's it. I can't fucking finish school because I spend too much time worrying about what he thought about before he died, what his life might be like right now… " He snarls, baring sharp fangs to the room. "He'd deal with this so much better than I would. I bet he wouldn't have nightmares like a goddamn wriggler."

And for a moment he glares at you, and the hurt and bitterness and anger is almost more than you can deal with, because it's all yours. You might have looked just like him once, a kid way too young to have to deal with the mortality of his big bro.

The councilor speaks again, stupid fucker that he is. What could this man ever know about the bitter kid in front of him? "And how do you cope with these nightmares?"

Garuda laughs bitterly. "I don't, that's why I'm fucking here."

"Have you tried a hobby? I like to paint on nights when I can't sleep." Katherine's trying to help, but you can't help but think she sounds like an idiot. Turntables and swordplay can only take up so much of your mind when everything else sets you on edge.

"What, you think knitting is gonna be his calling? The yarn is clearly the savior here. How stupid of us not to notice, everyone go home." Shit. You spoke. There goes that veneer of cool you had going. Even more amazing is the fact that no one seems to care that much. Katherine huffs indignantly, but that's about it. Eyes are still on Garuda, who's smirking at you like you just spoke his words for him.

Ok then.

"Kid, I've had nightmares and flashbacks for years, you have no idea the fucking stupid shit I've done to get over them. And I'll be honest here: cocaine was the best. Cocaine was motherfucking miraculous." Poor choice of words, you notice. "And it landed me face first in the shitter. I was chowing down in the fucking litter box, shit was that low. So you know what, if you're here without getting a mouthful of partially-digested mouse remains I think you're doing ok."

Ok, maybe that was a little far. Mayura covers her ears, Art chuckles lowly. "Nasty, dude," Elena laughs, face in her hands. Garuda, though… his teal eyes are still suspicious, but he looks almost ready to laugh. His grin reminds you a little of Rose's, always knowing a little more than it should.

The surge of affection you feel for that grin, the grin shared by Lalondes and Striders and all the misfit kids who grew up a little too fast, is pretty fucking powerful when it hits.

"…and if it helps, your bro probably thought you were pretty cool too."

The councilor steps in, attempting to regain control of the situation, but he was a pretty superfluous dude to begin with. Katherine chews you out for being vulgar, but Brooke and Elena seem to appreciate the humor. Kurt gives you an awkward high five, looking reverently at his hand afterward. After some more gushing and a couple of tears, the meeting is over, and you think that maybe you got your money's worth this time.

Garuda's packing up his backpack when you approach him. Jesus, he's still young enough to be a student someplace.

"What do you want, Strider?" His words might not be friendly, and his eyes might be sharp, but somehow you aren't threatened.

"Nothing. Just watch your back, ok?" He nods, smirking at you again. Those damn eyes. When you were his age you did everything you could to keep your eyes covered. This kid is already a hell of a lot smarter than you.

== Dave: abscond

You wish you could, you really, REALLY wish you could. But you can't, because who the fuck is waiting to pick you up from your day at school and take you to soccer practice?

Gamzee motherfucking Makara.

He's lurking out by a streetlamp like a goddamn after school special. Dude, seriously.

"Honestly, brother, a motherfucker might start to think you were avoidin' him, way you been dodgin' my calls. How the motherfuck has my motherfuckin' best customer been all this while? I hope you ain't been seein' some other wicked brothers on the side. Shit would hurt my motherfuckin' feelings."

He's all up in your personal space again, smelling like rancid horse ass. His breath is hot and unpleasant against your cheek as he leans in close, and for a brief, terrifying second you think he might lick you. You shove him away.

"Fuck off." He smiles again. It looks nothing like the friendly one you just saw in group, or even like one any of your friends might wear. The weird mix of complacency and sadism is about as worrying as anything you've ever seen.

"How about not today, my brother. Really, what are you doin' with all these motherfuckin' vanilla kids, all pokin' around in your thinkpan and waitin' to cut you open. They're gonna put your motherfuckin' guts on display, my brother. They'll eat anything that the birds haven't cleaned yet."

His eyes are on you, purple and bright and fully open for once. His stare, when not marred by drugs, is pretty fucking insane. His hand reaches into his pocket, and you stop him before he can pull anything out.

"Leave me the fuck alone. I don't need you or your psycho clown shit anymore." His eyes never break from yours, his smile growing wider.

"But you do, brother. Without me, this whole motherfuckin' world is gonna eat you alive."

He's got the coke out and ready, pressing it into your hand. That grubby plastic bag feels safe and familiar and completely wonderful right about now, and you know he can feel your hand shake around it.

"Take it. It'll bring you back. The song can't go on without a motherfuckin' melody."

His eyes, now open and red and all-consuming, burn brightly into your mind; his teeth are so close they could open a vein at any moment, all the easier to let the poison in. Your mind is buzzing and the itch crawls deeper and deeper under your skin, far away from the reach of your clawing fingers.

"I'm worried about you, brother. I know the way that shit burns in your motherfuckin' thinkpan. You and me, we're above these motherfuckin' wrigglers. They can't see the miracles past the motherfuckin' mayhem."

Your fingers shift around the powder, finely cut and barely contained by the thin sheet of plastic. It's so fucking close you can practically feel the rush, the heady invincibility that comes with forgetting who you really are…

Except you have to pick up Casey in 20 minutes, out by an elementary school in broad daylight, and you're not fucked up enough to let kids walk around in broken glass and needles any more. Fuck this psychotic clown if he thinks a little bit of dust is gonna break you this late in the game.

The bag falls out of your fingers, the thud it makes almost imperceptible against the sudden strangled rage emanating from Gamzee.

"Take the bag. MOTHERFUCKING TAKE THE BAG." His grin is gone, and the satisfaction you feel is immediate. Fuck, look at him snarl. Shit's almost adorable.

"Hey, I'll pick it up to hand it back to you, but if you think my lady's gonna be ok with me storing your blow you've got another thing coming. Mostly her fist into your bone bulge."

He's on you again, this time in brutal desperation. His hands are shaking as they try grabbing your collar, baring his teeth and meeting your eyes with his own violent red.

"Is that all it takes? Really?" you laugh to him. He stumbles away from you, hunched over and livid. "The only thing keeping you on the bright side of the sociopathic spectrum is a bit of blow? Fuck, it's not even _your _blow. Honestly, I'm kind of flattered that you're so fascinated with the chemical structure of my brain. Or I would be if I weren't so weirded out. I think you'd probably do well with a hobby."

"FUCK YOU. You have to keep going. YOU HAVE TO MOTHERFUCKING KEEP GOING. You, the motherfucker who woke me up to my true motherfucking calling. SO YOU MOTHERFUCKING JOIN ME."

"Holy shit Rose would have a field day with you. There has to be some diagnosis for, like, aggrandizing clown disorder or something. ACD. I'm sure they've got pills for that."

He lunges at you; fangs bared and ready to kill. Of course you're out of the way in time, but you find very quickly that it wouldn't have mattered. Garuda's punch landed pretty squarely against Gamzee's jawline, drawing a neat spatter of purple blood across the grass.

Gamzee stares in shock and horror, clutching his wounded jaw as the blood and spit continue to trickle down his fangs. "Why the MOTHERFUCK are you getting in my way? THIS AINT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS"

Garuda stares him down bitterly, light on his feet and itching for a fight. "I think the better question is why the fuck is it any of yours? Dave told you to fuck off, so fuck off."

Gamzee snarls, switching his gaze between you and Garuda before staggering backwards and absconding all over himself. He might be sadistic and totally fucking loopy, but he's not stupid. He knows enough to back out of a fight he can't win.

Garuda shakes his hand out, wincing slightly. "Crazy douchebag had a hard skull. He bother you often?"

"Nah, not anymore. I guess we just won the insane clown lottery today."

The troll laughs slightly. "Don't even joke, man. Clowns are the goddamn devil."

"Don't go saying that shit too loud, devil's gonna be pissed. You'll be on his shit list for eternity if he knows you're comparing him to that guy."

Brooke and Elena have run over to check out the commotion, and Art stares over his shoulder from down the street. Fuck, even when you're sober you sure know how to make a spectacle of yourself. With an awkwardly too-hard punch on the shoulder Garuda heads off on his merry way, and once they're sure everyone's ok the girls run off to join him. Now it's just you and that little plastic bag Gamzee left on the ground.

You could take it, no one would ever know.

You kick it out into the road instead.


	38. Squiddles in Paradise

Notes from Mama Lobster: Well, this here is the end, and the last chapter written by me. There will be an epilogue written by the lovely Brooke Stardust posted in a few days time, but for now... I bid you adieu. It's been wonderful. Thanks to Tonnere, Noacat, DynoMyte, our sort-of-mystery guest, not-exactly-the-truth, and everyone else who has been reading, reviewing, and enjoying. You are far too kind and I adore you all.

There are currently 25 chapters drafted for a sequel, and I hope some of you will trust me enough to get past the absolutely ridiculous premise in order to give it a try. When it's ready, of course. Feel free to check my tumblr (also lobstermatriarch) for updates on the status if you're interested.

Named for Squiddles, because Squiddles are boss. PS: cliches abound.

* * *

**Squiddles in Paradise**

_She sits on the edge of the golden ship, staring out into the cracked sky above their heads. The abyss is overwhelming, threatening almost, and the crack in space is one she can feel deeply inside herself, working to tear her mind apart._

_The end is drawing closer; though time is out of her reach she knows it's true. Whatever the game has in store for her, it all amounts to this. The fear is fragmented within her, maybe by the crack in space, maybe by her own doubts and inexperience. The excitement, apprehension, and unadulterated terror combine into a cocktail of adrenaline, heightening her senses and blinding her to anything except the pulse of her heat._

_But then he's warm against her back, rubbing her shoulders to comfort her. He's trying so hard to understand the ache she's feeling, the fundamental disconnect between her physical self and the universe. She wonders briefly if this is a feeling he knows firsthand._

"_You okay?" His voice is soft in her ear, and she imagines his breath would be warm if he still could breathe._

"_Sort of. I think I will be." She closes her eyes, blocking the void out of her mind and burying her head into a crest of soft feathers. He leans down into her hair, planting a kiss at the top of her head as his tail curls around her legs._

"_Well I know you will be. Game's gonna be over soon one way or the other, and I promise if we die we're going to have the most bitching corpse party." She pouts, elbowing him hard in the stomach and feeling him jerk away, laughing the whole while. _

"_Dave, what the fuck?! Why would you even say something so awful?!" He just smirks, scratching briefly at the white fluff behind her ears._

"_Well it got you to be something other than sad, didn't it?"_

* * *

_He's off in the corner, getting a little too comfortable in his self-aware reluctance. This is his battle now. His role to play is set, while the others still have a chance to escape. They might still live. Not him. He's watched himself die too many times before, once more couldn't hurt._

_Her thin claws touch lightly around his hand, feeling for his fingers blindly before wrapping them in her own._

"_Honestly coolkid, this funk you're in is starting to stink." She sniffs at the air, jerking her nose in his general direction. "It's like your candy apples all rotted in the Green Sun."_

_He smirks. "You been hanging out with Karkat? Dude seems to have a thing with my BO. Am I the man your man could smell like? Is that was this is about?"_

_She scoffs. "Only if I'm looking for the smell of angst and self-indulgent pity."_

"_I guess you could say I… smell like teen spirit?"_

"_I'm sensing one of your references that I don't understand. I only came by to see if you were okay, but if you insist in wallowing in human pop culture and personal drama I can leave."_

_He says nothing, but his hold on her fingers tightens. He might very well be panicked. She can take the hint, settling down next to him._

"_We've made it this far, Dave. You too. All that's left is one more push to the end. Then we can go home."_

"_Yeah, I call bullshit. What home will we go back to?"_

_She grins, baring sharp, white teeth against her black lips. "The home we make. The world is ours now. You can have any flavor you like."_

"_And if the flavor I pick ends up being puke with a side of sweaty horse cock?"_

"_Well then, you remake it. You keep trying until you get it right."_

* * *

== Jade: prepare

It's easier said than done, you think as you try once more to get a comb through the stringy mop atop your head. The comb is certainly losing this battle, fragile teeth snapping off to ricochet off the carpet. Your beauty regimen has sort of fallen to the wayside in the wake of everything that's happened, and if the scowl you see in the mirror is any indication this is the painful, frustrating price you have to pay.

There's still hours to go, you rationalize, but you're having some regrets about not allowing the professional Dave hired to help you. You try, once again to crush your doubts, but up they creep once more.

A particularly nasty tangle has your fingers involved in the process. Honestly, this is ridiculous, and it seems like the more you try to pull it the worse it gets. You growl, giving up on the comb entirely and eying a pair of scissors.

But then you groan, collapsing forward into your arms in a temporary state of defeat. You love your hair; it's been growing wild ever since you can remember. Losing it all would be heartbreaking to you, even if it were only temporary. Ugh.

"Hey Strider-Harley, you need a hand in there?" Shoot, he got you. You're going to have to learn to groan less loudly at some point.

Dave peeks into the room, eying the comb embedded your hair. It's about as stuck as stuck can get at this point. He smirks at you, not even trying to hide his amusement. You can't even imagine how silly you must look, stuck in your bathrobe with your hair matted to hell.

"Dave, I have no idea what's happening to my life." You flop onto your dresser for emphasis. He chuckles, advancing towards you to rest a hand on your shoulder.

"We could break out the big guns, you know. Kanaya might even spring for a transportalizer if she knew she had the option to do your hair. Shit, she'd just run the distance."

"That's really not necessary. It's just hair, I can handle it."

"Uh huh." You kind of want to knock those shades off his face. Or that little knowing smirk he's got, whichever one goes first. The smirk never leaves his face, even as he reaches out to pull up a chair, straddling it backwards in a way a three-piece tux really shouldn't allow. The whole thing is so ridiculous; he looks like a high school punk stuck in bourgeois clothing.

"Will you at least let me get the comb out? I'm pretty sure it's sinking into the abyss. Archaeologists might find it in about 10,000 years, but right now it's about to be a lost cause."

Well, it's kind of embarrassing to have to ask your husband for help, especially since you were so keen on being his surprise bombshell. Your embarrassment doesn't last long, though. He threads his fingers into your hair, and his touch is so warm and gentle. You release the breath you didn't know you were holding.

He pulls at the comb sharply and you yelp in surprise, and all the hasty apologies he offers can't quite get the stinging out of your eyes.

"Fuck, sorry, you ok?"

"Yeah." your voice is squeakier than you would have liked as you reach to massage your scalp. "But holy shit, be careful."

He nods silently, but you're not sure if you want to let him try again. Thankfully he reaches past the comb next time, working his hands gently under your fingers and easing the ache. The pressure from his fingertips is relaxing, kind but firm, and the slow circle he kneads into your scalp begins to lull you into a state of semi-consciousness. Your muscles relax and keeping your eyes open becomes a struggle.

His chair scrapes as he scoots closer to you, moving his fingers further down from your scalp, into your hair. He's terribly careful as he moves, working his fingers through one tangle at a time until patches of your hair flow freely. The comb clatters to the floor, and he reaches for it, easing it through your hair with the caution and reverence of a man sculpting glass. Through the relaxation you can feel a blush creep up your skin, cheeks prickling. The attention he's paying you is nicer than you would like to admit.

He places the comb down next to you, apparently satisfied with the job he's done. You reach back, and sure enough your hair is soft and silky and perfectly manageable. He smirks at you, running one final hand through it as if to examine his work.

"Damn if the girly mags won't be beating down my door now. Dave Strider: professional badass and cosmetologist extraordinaire. Watch out ladies, I'll do the fuck out of your nails too."

"Would you really?"

"Hell no. I've got my standards. Unless they're yours, in which case you can braid my hair and call me sis, cause you're about to get the makeover of your fucking life."

You smile at him and consider the option: you curling Dave's hair while he paints your nails. The image is oddly appealing.

"Maybe later. Actually, definitely later. I'm so going to hold you to that and we will be the prettiest couple in all of Hollywood."

"Shit, you serious?"

"I am so serious you could never possibly understand. But right now you need to go so I can finish surprising you!"

"So, what, do I get a warning or are you just gonna RuPaul me up when you get bored one day?"

"Out!" He puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender before turning to exit the room.

Crap, you forgot something.

You leap out of the chair, nearly knocking it over in your haste to get to him before he reaches the door. Just as he's turning to face you again, you plant a sloppy, wet, too-firm kiss against his cheek.

"Thanks Dave!"

He doesn't say anything, but you're pretty sure you can see his face turn slightly red as the corners of his mouth twitch into a slight smile. He presses a kiss into your forehead, biting it playfully before he turns to leave the room.

* * *

== Dave: wait

Casey looks stupidly adorable right now, twirling her pale purple dress over and over and giggling when it fans out. At least someone going to this event had the decency to take you up on your offer for professional stylists. John knew damn well that he couldn't even make matching pigtails for Casey, let alone dress her for a black tie event.

John cleans up pretty well himself, or at least he does after you convince him not to bother with that awful rental tux he tried on. He could borrow one of Bro's suits, or that's what you told him before you went out and got him a custom double-breasted tuxedo. He'd never wear it if he knew you bought it, and you'd never let your bro make an ass of himself in front of the media. Well, maybe you would, but not like this.

"Seriously man, thanks for getting us in here, but are you sure it'll be appropriate for Casey?"

"Um, duh. They have to broadcast this sh… crap on basic cable. It's as family friendly as they come short of unsexy furries and sing-alongs."

"Uncle Dave, you can say shit. I know what shit means." Casey looks so proud of herself, chest out and smirking like she thinks she's a grown up. John looks like he's about to have a heart attack and drags Casey to the corner for a "talk." You grin a little at the scene; Casey's going to be nine in a few months, and after that she'll be a teenager and Egderp will have no idea what to do with himself. That's ok, cool Uncle Dave and Aunt Jade will be there to be the bad influences.

Jade hesitates when she enters, almost as if on cue in one of John's shitty romcoms, and holy _fuck. _

That is a choice hottie, too impossibly good looking to ever exist in this universe. And you have seen a lot of weird shit exist in this universe. Brushing her hair was clearly the best ten minutes you've ever spent in your life, because it practically absorbs the light in the room, wrapping it up and drawing it across her eyes, her face, her body in that clingy little white number she's got on. You're almost jealous that anyone other than you gets to see her looking like some goddamn ethereal fairy princess.

"Oh my god Aunt Jade you look soooo pretty!" John wasn't done lecturing her, but Casey is too distracted to care. She runs to Jade, tugging at the floaty fabric around her knees.

"You're looking awfully pretty yourself! I bet your dad didn't do that for you, did he?" Jade brushes out one of the curls falling around Casey's face, and Casey shakes her head. She still looks a little awestruck by Jade, and you can bet she's not the only one.

"Dave, you're going to start drooling all over yourself if you don't shut your mouth soon." John nudges you with his elbow, and sure enough you've been gaping like an asshole.

Jade shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable with channeling the Greek goddesses or whatever miracle she's working to look that good. Somehow the weird schoolgirlish behavior just makes her even more attractive.

"Do I look ok? Do I look really silly?"

"Um. No. I mean yes? What question am I answering first? Shit, what are we even talking about..."

She blushes again and punches your arm in the single most unladylike juxtaposition you've ever seen. It's completely out of place and moreso, it's completely Jade. You catch her by the wrist (ever quick with the reflexes), and pull her in for dip. She laughs and follows with ease, her dress floating outwards in a way that Casey immediately tries to mimic. Jade settles against you, smirking, and you realize that something is missing.

"Can you see anything without your glasses?"

"Um…" She looks sheepish, fastening her teeth over her bottom lip and shrugging.

"Hold on." And with patented Strider smoothness you lift her back up, reaching to the table behind you to find her glasses. Slowly, carefully, you slide them onto her face. She blinks up at you once.

"Do they look too dorky with the dress?" She cocks her head to the side slightly, letting the question linger. You smirk.

"Little bit. Wouldn't change it for anything."

She laughs punches you again, leaving your shoulder stinging and a smile on your face. John puts Casey down long enough to tackle Jade into a hug, the siblings trying to shout over one another about which one looks better in formal clothes. Eventually they leave it up to Casey to decide, but Casey is still too enamored with Jade's new dress to care much.

It's all very charming, but honestly, you're going to be late to your own party. If you end up getting an award for best screenplay and you don't give the censors a migraine with your acceptance speech you'll never forgive yourself. Still, watching Jade laughing and bumping hips with Casey in an awkward dance, it seems like a huge goddamn waste to be sharing this with a bunch of cameras.

* * *

The limo is swanky as fuck, not like you'd ever settle for anything less. The champagne goes mostly untouched, with two out of four passengers unable to drink it and the other two steering clear out of respect or something. You try to insist that they can drink if they want to, it doesn't bother you, but Jade is too busy playing Concentration 64 with Casey (they asked you to join, but everyone knows Striders are federally too cool for clapping games) and Egbert is too nervous to pop the cork in an enclosed space.

"I don't buy it." John's looking at you skeptically, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked. "You have to be at least a little bit nervous, getting on stage in front of all those cameras."

"Fudge no, dude. I've been waiting for this. Been trying to spare the universe my unbelievable good looks, but I think it's about time I share the wealth. Prepare yourself for the planet-wide meltdown that will be the Strider fandom."

"But you have to give a speech or something, right?"

"Yeah, that's the best part. It's in gogdamn real time, I can say whatever the heck I want and they can't do crap about it."

"Except Casey's here, and there's absolutely no way I'm going to let her listen to your uncensored dirty mouth." Casey pauses, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Well I guess you're going to have to cover her ears then, because there's no way in heck I'm missing the chance to make those censor kids earn their paychecks."

"Dad, you can't cover my ears, I want to listen to Uncle Dave talk!" Casey's glaring at John, and John's glaring at you. Crap.

"Kid," you pause, not quite sure how to continue, "I really don't think it's a good idea for you to listen. I'm going to be saying a lot of pretty horrible things."

"Dave," Casey drops the uncle bit, puffing her chest out to try to look as adult as she possibly can, "I got all dressed up to come see you talk crap about a bunch of stuck up old people, and you can't tell me I don't get to listen." She folds her arms sternly, and her pout makes her look about 5 years younger than she is.

Well, now you're stuck with a bit of a conundrum. If a Strider alone on a stage speaks in calm, judgment-free tones ironically will the rest of the universe be able to get the joke? Or is it worth it to expose Casey's young virgin ears to the most horrible of your horrible wordplay…

And so you come to a decision.

"Guys, we're not going." Jade turns to look at you and John nearly jumps out of his skin.

"You serious, dude? I mean this is kind of a big deal?"

"What, you think I'm really going to miss stopping by to play nice with a bunch of overpaid actors? Buttholes are probably too busy shooting up in the bathroom to notice I'm gone."

"Are you sure you won't regret it? I mean, it's a really big opportunity for you." concern laces Jade's voice, and she takes your hand gently. You squeeze it.

"Think about it. We'll be sitting around acting all prim and proper until our backs hurt and Casey's passed out, and I won't even get to call my casting director a… poop face on national TV. Wouldn't you rather keep trying to commune with aliens or whatever it is you're doing with the clapping?"

Casey starts nodding frantically, stopping only when her dad plants a hand on her shoulder. Jade still doesn't look convinced.

"Don't give this up on our account."

You smirk. "I'm not giving anything up. You look fine as heck and Casey's already up too late like a genuine sophisticated lady, we're still taking this party out."

Casey squeaks slightly, scooting closer to you, and you almost go to ruffle her hair before you feel the prick of bobby pins under your palm. Better not mess that up.

* * *

After careful debate and John finally getting the nerve to pop, and consequently break, the champagne bottle, you somehow end up at Five Trolls burger joint, loading your face with processed meat and grub sauce. Everyone winces as you unwrap your slime-covered burger; Jade tastes the sauce for herself and gags. They can judge all they want, because grub sauce is fucking delicious.

Casey paints her dad's face in ketchup and mayo, and he growls and chases her around, calling himself "Lord English." You chuckle alongside Jade, finding the name doesn't bother you nearly as much as it used to.

John tires far more quickly than he used to, and settles down to pull out his phone. He has too many embarrassing pictures to show of Casey, and despite her best efforts to stop him you have a good time reminiscing on the past few months. Jade recognizes Adam Strider-English hiding behind Casey in a few photos, and you tease Casey about it mercilessly.

The limo is yours for the night, and you drive around town, unable to find a place to settle down. It's not until Casey points to her school, abandoned for the weekend, that you decide to have a little fun. Getting in is easy enough; none of the doors are locked, and you can't find yourself caring very much about the security cameras. Jade has to take her heels off to run up the stairs, hiking her skirt up to her knees so she can move faster. Casey races past all of you, climbing the stairs two at a time.

The roof of the school is wide and more comfortable than expected, with plenty of space to dance and move and collapse to look at the stars. You're the first one to lie down, dragging Casey down next to you in a fit of tickles. She shrieks and kicks, snorting and gasping through uncontrollable laughter and you refuse to show mercy until there are tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She punches your arm just like Jade, albeit much weaker.

John's checking his phone. "Crap, man, the results are in." You can tell from John's voice that the news isn't good. You didn't win this year. That's fine, though; you're career is still on the upturn, and having a bunch of pretentious old coots act like your work is some sort of masterpiece won't really change anything.

You scoff and tell him to either put the stupid phone down or play some music. John obliges, choosing a couple of simple piano ballads he recorded last year. The quality isn't great, but it's more than enough for what you need, because Jade looks like a goddamn angel and you're not about to let this opportunity pass you by.

She can't dance for anything and you're not exactly a brilliant leader, but the fun clumsiness of it is more than enough. She spins into and out of your arms, knocking harshly into your stomach while you step on her toes. She laughs, and John laughs, and it might be too late for Casey to be up because her laughter is starting to fade. John hums in time with the music, creating a soft lullaby, and despite her insistence that she's embarrassed you catch Casey snuggling into her dad's side.

With one last dramatic lift, the music ends, and you have to lower Jade back down to the earth. You fall back next to John and Casey lying flat on the asphalt, both of whom are looking like they might be ready to fall asleep at any second. You snark about Jade having to carry John down the stairs, and he mumbles something about you being a jerk. Jade's too caught up in the stars to even notice, tracing little patterns between them with her fingers. You twine your fingers with hers, and together you can guide each other into creating constellations in a bright new sky.

Sometime around her pointing out the constellation Echidna, you realize that not a cell in your body is itching. Nothing in you is restless, twitchy, or otherwise agitated. For the first time since the game has ended, you are at peace.


	39. Epilogue: Blistex

Written by Brooke Stardust

* * *

Epilogue: Blistex

== Be Rose

It has been a long time since you truly connected with your friends. When you last physically spent any time with them, Jade was comatose, Dave was a zombified addict, and John looked older than you ever imagined someone with such a young spirit could look.

Of course, you've kept in contact since then, getting updates from everyone on how things were going, even making day trips here and there for birthdays or gatherings. Your replies were always prompt, often offering your advice or opinion on developments, but never going so far as to fuss or meddle (much to the disapproval of Kanaya, but she can be quite difficult to please in this sort of situation.) The distance made it difficult to get a real grasp on how things actually were, but you figured that, if something were to go horribly airy, someone would let you know.

== John: Contact

You haven't called Rose as much as you probably should. Maybe somewhere deep down you harbored a small bit of resentment for the divorce, but that's hardly the reason you're so bad about getting on the phone with her.

In reality, you're just bad about getting on the phone with anyone. The only reason you talk to Jade so often is that she takes the initiative and dials you. Left to your own devices, the poor telephone would never see any action at all.

This is a vice that you are vowing to break yourself of as soon as possible. You're not mad at her anymore. You don't even think you feel that way for her anymore. It's probably time to call.

== Rose: Consider

Your ex husband just called you and alerted you to the fact that "It is November, Rose" and "clearly that means you have to come down and visit. We haven't seen you since Dave's fundraiser."

While you might not have any idea what the month of November has to do with visitation, you do feel the great need to go on a vacation that isn't filled with the glamour or adventure of exotic travels. You briefly consult with Kanaya about the idea, and call John back, agreeing to his proposal. John seems thrilled and lets you know he'll prepare the guest room. You tell him you'll find a nearby hotel. He puts Casey on the line. You have Kanaya cancel your booking with the local Marriot.

John Egbert does not play fair in the game of hospitality.

== Rose: Travel

Despite (or perhaps because of) your humble lodgings for the next week, you and your partner find yourselves comfortably seated in the first class of the most extravagant airline you could manage to find on such short notice. The seats are large and plush, reclining back into an almost bed-like position. While it is nothing compared to your bed at home, it is far more comfortable than the economy class seating, and allows for you to attempt napping while in flight.

You've never been fond of flying. The actual act is fine, but any sudden movements, including take off and landing, leave you with a great urge to have your feet planted firmly on the ground. A bump of turbulence hits and you scramble for something to distract yourself with until landing.

Glancing over, you notice that Kanaya has already occupied herself with proofreading your latest novel. Lovely. You'll be hard pressed to get your laptop back any time during this flight. She notices your impatience and huffs slightly, hanging you the in-seat magazine.

Of all cover stories, you never expected to see an in depth essay on the religious metaphors in the third Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff gracing the usually bland and family friendly 'SkyMag'. It's distraction enough though, and you open up and start skimming through the article. Somehow your brother has once again managed to get people talking about his absolute nonsense. The journalist is going on and on about Geromy as a Sufferer figure, and you can't help but laugh to yourself. The photograph of Dave that they decided to use isn't helping either. He's giving the same deadpan expression that he usually uses for things like this, but the way he's crossed his arms is making him look so utterly _serious. _As though this was all his intention from the start and that he's annoyed it took them this long to figure it out.

You manage to finish the article without causing too much commotion with your giggles, and go back to the photograph. The copyright states it was taken within the past month or so. Funny, you would have thought it was taken years ago, with how young Dave looks. His face is fleshed out more and his shoulders are broader than you remember them being.

It is a little strange how surprised you are that Dave looks like, well, Dave.

You hold up the image to show Kanaya. She raises an eyebrow delicately and mentions that, yes, he does look like he is in good health, but physical changes in your pals should not come as such a surprise considering how much has changed in the past few years.

You turn back to the photograph and find yourself unable to control the wave of guilt that crashes over you as the plane begins its decent.

== Rose : Land

You won't admit it, but you are rather surprised by the group that comes to pick you up at the airport. You were expecting a prepaid taxi at most, even going so far as to pack light so that it would take no more the two of you to move all of Kanaya's 'essentials' for the trip.

You get barrelled down by the combined forces of the Egbert-Harley siblings and briefly wonder why you ever expected anything less.

== Dave: Feel no sympathy

Rose was practically _begging_ for this the moment she agreed to come down. You were only gone a few months and you had to deal with the ramifications of your absence in the form of one John Egbert making a scene to rival the climax of your SB&HJ Winter Non-Denominational Holiday Special. It only makes sense that Rose should get double the punishment.

She is getting absolutely flooded with questions. John and Jade are tossing q-bombs out with such speed that you are sure Rose will not be able to get a word in edgewise. The look on Kanaya's face in this moment is priceless. You can't decide if she looks horrified or embarrassed or a mixture of both, but you do decide that it is the perfect expression for her.

Eventually John and Jade get up and allow Rose a moment to breathe. They're still yammering on, but at least now they're talking at her instead of forcing her to try to answer their constant stream of questioning. Kanaya grabs her bags and makes her way towards you and Casey. She scoops her stepdaughter up in her arms and begins cooing over how old she's getting and what a lovely young lady she's turning into.

It was all very sweet until she began doing the same to you. Really, Kanaya, the cheek pinching seems a bit much. You are a grown adult and this is getting flat out silly. The smirk she is giving seems to imply that she was thinking the exact same thing.

== Rose: Observe

Despite it being hardly his fault, John is apologizing over and over about the lack of space in his beat up station wagon. Even though you had encouraged Kanaya to pack light, your bags still take up all of the trunk and most of the seating area. Jade and John are trying to squish things around in order to fit everyone in the car, but their efforts are proving to be fruitless.

"It just won't all fit!" Jade huffs slightly. "Well, the stuff will fit, but the six of us sure as heck won't."

"You go," Dave's got his arm draped across your shoulder. "The four of you can squish in. Sis and I have some catching up to do anyway. We'll just get a cab."

"Are you sure, dude?" John looks concerned, leaning over the hood of the car. "I can always make two trips. I don't want you to waste the money."

"John stop being an idiot. It'll cost you more in gas on that old piece of sh-…hiney metal than it will for us to just call someone. We'll meet you there."

It takes some convincing, but after a few minutes you and Dave are waving as Kanaya, Jade, Casey, John and the luggage begin the trek back to the Egbert household.

"You're welcome, by the way." He's smirking as you watch the station wagon leave the parking lot. "I figured you'd appreciate the quiet for a few minutes."

"Indeed I do," you're not particularly good with being the centre of attention for any length of time, much preferring to be the one questioning than the one being questioned. Being on the other side of the proverbial couch is a strangely foreign feeling.

Dave is leaning against the wall of the terminal, his long body arching against the concrete. You lean up next to him, watching the muscles in his arm flex slightly as he starts dialling his phone for the cab. He brings the phone to his ear and you notice how the gauntness that you last saw on him is gone. He places his glasses on his forehead as he rubs at one of his eyes and the dark circles you expected to find are nowhere to be seen.

"What are you staring at?" he looks amused at what you are sure is your gaping mouth. "My beauty stunning you into silence once again? Of all people, I thought you'd be immune, Miss Lalonde."

You smirk, reaching up to run your fngers through Dave's no longer greasy, dirty hair. "Just taking it all in. It really is quite remarkable, how much has changed in you."

"I only get more gorgeous with age."

"And sobriety."

"That too."

A moment of quiet passes between you two. It's comfortable, more comfortable than the silences you've dealt with on the phone in the past few months. You follow his gaze, watching planes land and take off behind the terminal.

"You're into all this psych bullshit, right?" he asks as the cab begins pulling up to the curb.

"I like to pretend I am, at the very least."

"Does this whole sober thing ever get more normal? I mean, I know that the cravings won't stop and I'll be an addict for life and I am helpless to the call of the coke doctor or whatever, but," he starts walking forward to meet the car then stops, looking back at you. "It just feels fucking weird right now."

"I wouldn't know personally," you admit, opening the door and sliding into the cramped backseat. "But I imagine that you'll come to adjust to the new lifestyle. From what I'm seeing so far, you're already well on your way."

"Just making sure," he shuts the door and hands over the address to the driver.

== Kanaya: Go along with the plan

"Alright, part one is accomplished," John's driving down the highway at a speed you never thought he would dare attempt. "All we need to do now is drop Kanaya and Casey off at home and then we can begin part two."

"Wouldn't that be part three?" Jade is consulting a list that you can see has been edited many times over. They've put so much effort into this. You're so proud.

"I don't know. To be honest, I'm not sure it matters at this point," He says, as he turns sharply off the exit ramp. "We just need to get there before she does so she can't back down."

"Are you two sure she will not back down even with rest of you there?" you ask as you pet Casey's hair in what you hope is a comforting manner. She appears quite shaken by the way her father is driving. "I have no doubt that she will enjoy herself once it has begun, but I think you put quite a bit of faith that she will allow it to begin in general."

"You are not allowed to put logic into this, Kanaya," says John. "The moment we start thinking logically is the moment it all goes to heck. We have to think outside of Rose's box, remember?"

"So humans have think boxes rather than pans?" You smile as Jade shoots you a look from the passenger seat.

"Kanaya! This is serious!"

"Jade my dear, you are attempting to con your friend into joining you in watching a terribly rated stage performance written by your husband during the final weeks of his rehabilitation that features the musical samplings of your ecto human-brother while he was intoxicated on fermented grapes and sugar candy sticks. Forgive me, but I am not sure I see where the serious aspect of this lies."

Jade has the most dumb-founded expression on her face, like a hoofbeast in the headlights. You have to hold back from laughing at it.

"When you put it that way, it does sound really dumb, doesn't it?" she asks eventually.

"You're falling into the logic trap, Jade!" John's clearly entered friendleader mode. "This is not a trap we are allowed to enter! We'll be like lobsters or something, unable to escape." He snaps a hand at Jade in what you can only assume is a claw-like manner. "Lobsters!"

"Okay, okay! I get it!"

"Good! Now we have to get Kanaya and Casey settled as fast as possible so we can beat them to the theatre. With the four of us at it, I imagine we can empty the car in under ten minutes. We can still get there in time if we hurry!"

== Rose : Realize what's happening.

This is not the neighbourhood you remember. You lived with John for several years and even though it has been a few months since you were last in this neck of the woods, you are sure that things wouldn't have changed so drastically so quickly.

"We aren't going to John's house, are we?" you ask, turning to Dave.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner," he's grinning. On any other person, you'd classify this as a smirk, but for Dave, it is most certainly a grin. He seems far too pleased with himself to classify it as anything else. "And are you ready come on down to hear about your fabulous prizes?"

"I can only assume it will not be a vacation cruse to Alaska or a digital telephone with caller ID."

Dave laughs. "You're really quite clever, Miss Lalonde."

"I do my best."

"And how is that working out for you?"

"Better than your attempts to distract me. Where are we going, Dave?"

"We're going where no man has gone before. Boldly."

"_Dave_."

"Fine. We're going out."

"That is of no help at all."

"I know," he's grinning again. It has been a very long time since you last saw Dave Strider look so completely amused. You're pretty sure that he's figuring himself quite clever after that quick exchange. It is rare that you are the loser in a battle of wits, and this battle was no exception, but you suppose you can allow him to pretend he took the winning title, if just because it's making him look so goddamn _pleased_.

The cab finally pulls up to a curb and the driver lets you out. John and Jade are already waiting as you exit and Dave offers his arm, which you take gracefully. You find yourself blinded by the lights of a large theater, and have to blink several times before you are able to properly read the marquee.

"Oh my god, Dave Strider you have got to be shitting with me."

== Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff The Musical Production With Songz Based On The Hit Movie Based On The Hit Comic: Be the worst thing ever produced.

In Broadway dreams, you are the star.

It's you.

There are people who said it couldn't be done. That you wouldn't be able to top the awfulness that was Evil Dead the Musical. _You sure showed them_. Even your writer and composer couldn't sit through your entire performance, absconding before you even finished your first act.

Granted, your first act is six hours long, but even so.

You are so proud of yourself.

The little musical that could.

== Rose: Attach

"Dave. Dave, jegus christ, I cannot believe you put money into producing that!" John looks absolutely horrified. "I knew it was supposed to be bad, but did you really have to make it so awful that even you couldn't suffer through it?"

"Shut up Egbert, that musical is going places."

"If by places you mean the trash can, then maybe!" You can't help but laugh as John rolls his eyes. "It's a damn good thing Casey stayed home. Did you really need to include the Christmas Party song?"

Dave fakes shock. "Hey, that song was great and you know it. If I weren't so fond of 'Blistex", I'd say its your best work to date."

"Dave, I 'wrote' it after you got me drunk on egg nog and handed me a broken keytar."

"I'm sure that the world owes me a large novelty check or something for making sure that beautiful combination happened. I'm like the guy who sold Da Vinci his paint set up in here."

You turn and catch Jade biting her lip to attempt to suppress her laughter. She notices that you're looking and all her restraint is gone. She is giggling in a way that is completely and totally infectious, coming right from her gut and escaping in almost a hiccupping sound.

John's attempt at defending himself is ceased as he breaks into laughter too. Even Dave is chucking over the sheer ridiculousness of the whole event.

And, for once, you join them. You let the laughter take you over and you forget to care about how inelegant your snorting is, or how completely stupid the four of you must look to everyone passing by. You feel like you're thirteen again, just being comfortable and hanging out with your friends. No game, no drug use, no flashbacks, no divorce. It's just the four of you meandering around and enjoying each others company.

You spend the next few hours walking around the city, catching up properly on everything that's happened without you. Jade describes her recent discoveries at work, how she managed to finally get down the perfect planting cycle for Alternian marsh plants. John mumbles something about having "met someone", and simply will not shut up when you ask about how Casey is doing. Dave describes, in length, his latest project and how, this time, he thinks the critics are going to unironically love it, so long as he doesn't put his name to it.

You listen to everything, taking it all in. You expect yourself to feel like more of a third wheel to their conversations, but, to your surprise, you don't. They include you just as naturally as they did when you were still around.

Damn, you missed this.

"Rose? Hey, Rose. You okay?" Dave's turned to you. He, John and Jade are several paces ahead, which is strange. You didn't even notice that you've stopped walking.

"I'm fine," you say, moving to catch up. "Just not quite used to this yet."

"Used to what?" John and Jade have also turned now, concern on their faces.

You shake your head, smiling. "Nothing at all."

Dave ruffles your hair, smirking as you flatten it back down. "Way to share your feelings, miss therapist."

"There is a reason that I am on the other side of the desk, Mr. Strider. I prefer to remain the enigma as opposed to the completed puzzle."

"Rose, you're like a one of those fucking 10,000 piece puzzles, with no edges and at least half the pieces missing—Jesus Lalonde, stop grinning. It's fucking creepy."

"Sorry," you say, even though you aren't. You grin even wider, striding ahead of the group a bit.

"Hey, look" You spin around as John points up at the sky. "Oh jeez, is it really dawn already? I feel like we just started talking."

"Here comes the sun," Jade sings, laughing as John pulls a face.

Dave wraps his arms around his wife. "Do de do do," he continues, deadpan. "Here comes the sun and I say it's all right."

And, for once, it is.

* * *

Cheers :)


End file.
